The Hobbit, the Ring, and The Fellowship
by INMH
Summary: NarniaLOTR crossover. What if the Wardrobe Lucy Pevensie stepped through hadn't led to Narnia? What if it had led to Middle Earth, to the Shire? The Pevensies are drawn into the battle for Middle Earth. Will they survive to see their world again?
1. Into the Wardrobe

The Hobbit, the Ring and the Fellowship

Rating: PG-13/T

Genre: Fantasy/Action/Adventure

Summary: Narnia/LOTR crossover. What if the Wardrobe Lucy Pevensie stepped through hadn't led her to Narnia? What if it had led to Middle Earth instead? The Pevensie children are drawn into the Battle for Middle Earth- will they survive to see their home again?

Author's Note: And this, children, answers the question of "How many Alternate Universes can one person think up of for Lord of the Rings?"

Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings or The Chronicles of Narnia. JRR Tolkien and CS Lewis do. THEY ROCK!

* * *

NOTE: I'm just going to start out right at the hide and seek game. Nothing happens before that that would greatly influence the plot.

* * *

Personally, Lucy Pevensie loved hide and seek. Her older siblings thought it was for babies, but she didn't care. And besides- even though they wouldn't admit it most of the time, she knew they had fun. She knew even Edmund, who had been a big-old sourpuss since they had arrived in the country a few days ago, enjoyed it. No matter how much he grumbled and cursed about it.

Though Lucy had to admit, Edmund was ruining the game a bit. He had just shoved her out a place behind the curtain so he could hide there. Lucy huffed angrily at this, but then submitted and ran off to find another place. She charged up a flight of stairs and pulled on the nearest door. It was locked. She tried the next door. Locked. And then the next. Still locked. On and on, she went down the hall and tugged on the doors, most of which were locked.

Then she got to the one at the end of the hall. This one was unlocked. Lucy quickly pushed the door open and stepped inside. She stopped halfway through closing the door as she caught sight of the only thing in the room. A large object was at the back of the room, with a white sheet covering it completely. Lucy, ignoring Peter's audible counting from downstairs, moved forward slowly.

Once directly in front of the object, she reached out and curled her fingers into the sheet. She pulled it off, revealing a large, beautifully carved, oaken wardrobe. She studied the carvings in the wood for a moment, and then opened the door, knowing it would be a perfect place to hide. Stepping inside, she saw the wardrobe was full of fluffy brown coats. Carefully, so as not to trip, she moved back through the sea of coats.

She discovered that the wardrobe was a lot bigger than it seemed to be. It seemed to take forever for her to touch the back. In fact… Where _was_ the back? Lucy, her eyes narrowed, reached behind her to grope around for the back of the wardrobe. Finally, her hand touched something. But it wasn't what she expected to touch.

She had expected wood, but she hadn't expected a tree.

But a tree it was. A large, leafy green branch was jutting between the last two coats and into the wardrobe. Lucy gasped a bit, and touched the branch lightly. It moved. She gave it a small tug, and it resisted. Lucy followed the branch until she found where the back of the wardrobe was supposed to be. She stumbled, and realized that the wardrobe wasn't attached to the ground. She stepped down, and felt soft grass beneath her feet.

Stepping out of the wardrobe, she pushed aside a clump of leaf-covered branches and looked out. "Why, it's an apple orchard!" She gasped. And indeed it was. Large red apples hung from trees like the one a few feet from the wardrobe. Lucy smiled and looked around. For a brief moment, she wondered if maybe the wardrobe was really a secret passage to the yard of the Professor's house.

"I suppose it can't be," She muttered to herself. "The spare room was on the second or third floor…" Like the countryside, this place was very sunny, and gave Lucy a warm and happy feeling when she gazed around. The tension and sadness she felt from the war, and having to leave London evaporated. "Such a beautiful place," She whispered, taking a step backwards.

"Yes, I suppose it is, isn't it?"

Lucy jumped a mile at the unfamiliar voice and whirled around. There stood a young man- a very _small_ man- with curly brown hair and shockingly blue eyes. (A/N: Am I the only person who thinks that Frodo and Mr. Tumnus look alike? Especially the hair?) "Y-Yes! A very lovely place!" Lucy stuttered. "Em… Actually… What _is_ this place? And, who are you?" She asked. A curious look crossed the man's youthful features, and he cocked his head slightly.

"You don't know where you are?" He asked. Lucy shook her head.

"No, I'm afraid I don't."

"How did you get here?" Lucy turned and pointed through the clump of trees that barely concealed the wardrobe. The man glanced past her. "From there?"

"Yes." Lucy said. The man blinked again, and then decided not to press the situation.

"All right… Well, in any case, my name is Frodo Baggins." He held out a hand, and Lucy shook it. "And you are?"

"Lucy Pevensie," She said. Now that he was closer, Frodo studied the child a bit more carefully.  
"Say… Are you one of mankind?" Now it was Lucy's turn to blink.  
"Yes," She said. "Aren't you?" Frodo shook his head.

"No, I'm a Hobbit. One of the Shire-folk; Which is where you are right now. The town of Hobbiton, in the Shire." He explained. Lucy nodded, processing this new information.

"And where is the Shire?" She asked. If Frodo had been curious and a little confused, then he was downright puzzled now.

"It's in the North."

"In the North of what?" Now the hobbit just stared.

"When you said you didn't know where you were… I didn't really know how serious you were… You're in Middle Earth, Lucy. Where are you from?"

"England." Lucy answered. From the look on Frodo's face, she could tell he had no idea what she was talking about. "Great Britain?" She tried again. Still nothing. Well, it figured- she knew England wasn't in Middle Earth, but on Earth-Earth, and Frodo knew as much about England as Lucy did about the Shire. "Oh well. I suppose it doesn't matter as long as I can get back. So, Frodo, do you meet humans often?" Lucy asked.

She and Frodo began to stroll through the orchard. It was easy to talk with Frodo, because he was just about Lucy's height. It was an advantage for a child talking to a hobbit. "No, not really. I know one human, though; A wizard, named Gandalf." Lucy's eyes widened.  
"A wizard? Wizards are real? My sister told me they were just make-believe!" Frodo grinned.

"I know. I could hardly believe it myself, if my uncle wasn't such an adventurer. He's told me all sorts of tales about wizards, dragons, dwarves, goblins, elves… You name it, he's met one of its species." Lucy gaped.

"Wow, were they wrong!" She whispered, in reference to her older siblings.

"Were who wrong?" Frodo asked, sitting down against a tree. Lucy sat down across from him.

"My brothers and sister. They said that there's no such thing as elves and wizards, or dwarves and goblins. Though, one of my brothers does like to tease that there's a monster under my bed that'll eat me if I try to crawl under there… But I think he was just being stupid." She explained.

"You have siblings? How many?" Frodo asked.

"Three. Peter's the oldest, then Susan, then Edmund, then me." Lucy made a face. "I _hate _being the youngest. Peter bosses everyone around, Susan's too logical, and Edmund's been a little mean lately. Peter and Edmund are _always_ fighting, and Susan's getting frustrated from it all. Personally, they're all driving me mad!" Frodo chuckled.

"Be lucky you have them. I wish I had siblings. I have loads of relatives- especially cousins- but no brothers or sisters. My only immediate family is my uncle, Bilbo." He said.

"What about your parents?" Lucy asked.

"They drowned when I was a child."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't be. Living with Bilbo's rather exciting. He's loaded with stories, and he's always good to have a chat with. Though, lately… He's been holding up in his study, and looking over maps when he thinks I'm not looking." Frodo paused. "I think he's planning on leaving soon."

"Why would he want to leave?" Lucy asked, twiddling a blade of grass between her fingers. "I've only seen this much of the Shire, and it's very lovely." Frodo smiled.

"Yes, the Shire is one of the prettier places in Middle Earth. Mind you, I've never left the Shire, but it's in my own opinion. It's also one of the more peaceful places. Very quiet, not too active… When you think about it, it can get a little boring around here. Most hobbits like the peace, and like to keep it that way, but others- like my uncle- prefer more adventure and mischief." He said. Lucy sighed and cast her eyes down, remembering her own home.

"I wish England was this peaceful. There's a war going on now, and Peter, Susan, Edmund and I had to leave our home to go to the country. The government said it would be safer there." She flipped her eyes up to meet Frodo's. "You should have seen our house. Our home's been attacked so hard, you'd barely know it used to be a house." Frodo frowned.

"That's horrible. Where are your parents?" He asked, hoping for the sake of his new friend that her answer was not the same as his.

"Daddy's off fighting. Mum's a nurse at the hospital. With all the attacks, a lot of people are getting hurt. She didn't come with us when we were evacuated." Lucy said. She, for one, was a bit more grateful that she still had her parents. They, at least, were alive, and she could look forward to seeing them; Whereas, poor Frodo would never get the chance to see his parents again.

"Who are you staying with now?" He asked. "Relatives?" Lucy shook her head.

"No- someone named Professor Kirke, and his insane house-keeper, Mrs. Macready! Oh, she was horrible! Always yelling at us for 'walking too loudly' in the halls. 'You're one shenanigan away from sleeping in the stables'!" Lucy said, perfectly imitating Mrs. Macready's accent and twisting her face to a hilarious expression. Frodo laughed. Then, an idea struck him.

"Lucy- tonight is my uncle's birthday. Would you and your brothers and sister like to come?" Lucy's eyes lit up.

"Oh, really? You're inviting us?" She asked, sounding ecstatic. Frodo nodded and laughed again.

"Why not? Half the Shire's been invited, and the rest are coming anyway!" Lucy clapped her hands excitedly.

"Oh, thank you, Frodo!" She cried, throwing her arms around his neck. "I bet it'll be wonderful!" Frodo nodded.

"Oh yes, Bilbo's always making a big deal out of his birthday. He's one of the oldest hobbits in the Shire." He said.

"Really? How old is he?" Lucy asked.

"One-hundred eleven." Her jaw dropped.

"Are you serious?" She asked. Frodo nodded.

"I take it humans don't live that long?" He asked. Lucy shook her head.

"Well, a few have, but still, it's surprising." She said, standing up. "I'll go back and tell them we're invited. Ooh, this will be so exciting!" She said, turning to go back to the wardrobe. "Good-bye, Frodo!"

"Good-bye, Lucy!" Frodo called. He smiled as she disappeared into the foliage, and turned back to the road. He paused for a moment, listening, and then froze. He heard the clattering of cart wheels, and the humming of a man. Or, more appropriately, a wizard.

Stepping out onto the bank above the road, Frodo crossed his arms and stared at the cart as it approached. A grey-cloaked man with a pale blue, pointed hat was driving the cart, and he stopped it when Frodo broke his silence and said, "You're late."

The wizard paused for a moment, and then looked up to meet Frodo's eyes. "A wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins. Nor is he early. He arrives _precisely_ when he means to." There was a pause, and their eyes remained locked. But the corners of their lips twitched. The wizard appeared to have trouble holding back a smile. Finally, Frodo grinned and laughed, jumping onto the cart and embracing the wizard as he, to, laughed.

"It's wonderful to see you, Gandalf!" He cried. Gandalf smiled.

"Well, you didn't think I was going to miss your Uncle Bilbo's birthday, did you?" He asked with a chuckle. Frodo sighed and smiled.

"I didn't think so. Gandalf, you'll never guess what just happened; I met a human!" He said. Gandalf's eyes widened, and he spluttered uncharacteristically for a moment.

"A human?" He choked. "This far into the Shire? I didn't think they ever went much farther than Bree… How old was he? Did he say where he was going?"

"Actually, it was a she. A little girl named Lucy Pevensie. I think she was about nine or ten years old." Frodo said. Gandalf stared at the hobbit, as though he didn't believe him.

"A child…" He said slowly, thinking about this for a moment. "And what was a child doing so far away from other humans? Was she lost?" Gandalf watched the Hobbit carefully, trying to search his face for any clues.

"Well, I don't think she was lost… She knew how to get home, anyway. Lucy said she came from a place called 'England', but I've never heard of it. Have you, Gandalf?" Frodo asked. Gandalf paused, and then shook his head.

"No, I have not. Where did she go?"

"Back home."

"How?"

"I'm not sure. She said she got here through a clump of trees and bushes. She didn't say it, actually, but she implied it. You'll get to meet her, Gandalf- I invited her and her three siblings to Bilbo's birthday tonight. I don't think he'll notice four more people." Frodo said, relaxing back. Gandalf nodded, looking a bit distant.

"Yes, I think I should like to meet these children." He said. "Indeed…"


	2. The Birthday Party

A/N: Okay, I didn't follow the scenes from the books or the movies, because I don't have access to either at the moment. So, I'm straying from the direct lines a little. Probably a better idea, now that I think about it...

* * *

Meanwhile, on the other side of the wardrobe, Lucy Pevensie tumbled out of the wardrobe. "I'M BACK!" She screamed, landing on all fours on the wooden floor. "I'm back!" She looked up to see her three older siblings staring at her.

"Er, Lu, I'm beginning to think you don't get the idea of the game," Peter said. "You're not supposed to scream out where you are." Lucy shook her head wildly, looking both breathless and ecstatic all at once.

"No, no! I- the wardrobe- there's another world on the other side!"

"What are you babbling on about?" Edmund muttered, shaking his head and staring at his sister like she had lost her mind.

"There's another world through the wardrobe! Middle Earth! I met a hobbit named Frodo Baggins, and I walked in an apple orchard in Hobbiton, and Frodo's invited us to his uncle's one-hundred eleventh birthday party!" Lucy panted. There was a long, drawn-out pause. Lucy was smiling. Peter, Susan and Edmund's expressions were blank. Then, Susan and Peter exchanged worried looks.

Susan moved forward, past Lucy, and went around to the back of the wardrobe. There was the sound of wood scraping wood as Susan tugged at the wardrobe. She turned back to the others. "Lucy," She said quietly. "There's no orchard back here. The only wood here is the back of the wardrobe." Lucy was shocked.

"But- but- It was just there! I wouldn't lie about this!" She cried. "Doesn't anyone believe me?"

"I believe you," Edmund said, with a companionable look on his face. Lucy froze, looking hopefully at her brother. "After all, didn't I tell you about the football field in the bathroom cupboards?" He said with a laugh. Lucy felt ready to cry.

Peter rounded on Edmund. "Oh, just stop. You always have to make everything worse, don't you?" He growled.

"It was just a joke," Edmund said defensively. Susan and Lucy tensed, sensing a fight on the horizon.

"Why don't you just grow up?" Peter snapped. That seemed to be his favorite phrase to growl at his brother when they fought. It hit just the wrong nerve at just the wrong time.

"Shut up!" Edmund screamed. "You think you're, dad but you're not!"

"What-"  
"SHUT UP! THE BOTH OF YOU! JUST SHUT UP!" Lucy screamed, slapping her hands over her ears and running from the room. Susan turned and gave Peter one of her "looks".

"Well," She said, an edge of sarcasm in her voice. "That was nicely handled." Then, she turned away and went after their sister. "Lucy!" She called. "Lucy, wait!"

"Leave me alone!" Lucy cried, dashing down the hallway. Now she was crying, and wasn't paying any special attention to where she was going. Lucy ran right into someone- Professor Kirke.

"Whoa, now, what's all this about?" The Professor asked when he saw tear-streaks on Lucy's face.

"Oh, Professor Kirke!" Susan exclaimed, looking surprised. She also seemed slightly embarrassed at the situation they were in. Peter and Edmund (both of whom were determinedly avoiding each other's eyes) had come up behind her, and froze when they saw the Professor.

Lucy started trying to tell the Professor what happened, but her words were choked and hysterical, and he couldn't make them out. "Shh, shh, calm down child." He said, trying to soothe her. "Why don't you go lie down for a few minutes?" He patted her shoulder, and then turned to the three other children. "Peter, Susan- may I please speak with you?" Professor Kirke asked as Lucy shuffled into her and Susan's room and closed the door.

Lucy flopped down on the bed, furiously rubbing her eyes. She hated how she had gone from being miserable, to elated, to completely miserable again. How could someone feel so wonderful, and become so mad and sad so quickly? She lay there and sniffled for a moment, and then sat up. Lucy reined her emotions back in and composed herself.

"I'm going to that party tonight," She whispered. "Whether they believe me or not. I told Frodo I'd go, and I'm going to go. And phooey on them for missing it."

* * *

"Now, what seems to be the trouble?" Professor Kirke asked. He had beckoned Susan and Peter into his study so that he could speak to them. The two older Pevensies exchanged brief, concerned looks before Susan spoke.

"It's our sister, Lucy, Professor. She thinks she's found some other world in the wardrobe. Some place called 'Middle Earth'." She explained. Professor Kirke nodded slowly, appearing to be in deep thought. The two teenagers waited for him to speak.

"Well, has she ever lied to you before?" He asked. Susan shot a bewildered look at her brother. Was the Professor actually questioning the logic of another world in his wardrobe?

"Well, yes- er, no- well, she doesn't usually." Susan said, trying to get the correct words out. "Rarely."

"Yes, usually it's Edmund that lies." Peter remarked wryly.

"Peter!" Susan said sharply.

"What? You know it's true, Susan!"

"So," Being the wise man that he was, Professor Kirke sensed that the brother and sister were about to get into a heated argument, and nipped it in the bud before it could begin. "If she usually tells the truth, and doesn't usually lie, then logically, she's telling the truth, yes?" He asked.

Both teenagers looked confused. "But, sir, it's not possible… How can there be another world in that wardrobe?" Peter asked. The Professor gave the two a knowing look and a little smile.

"I'll let you two in on a little secret," He said. "That wardrobe is not an ordinary wardrobe. The tree it was carved from was not ordinary. The seed that tree came from was not ordinary, because the fruit it came from was not ordinary. I won't tell you the finer details, but I will tell you that that wardrobe… Is special. Very, very special." The smile he gave them turned mysterious. "Maybe… One day… You'll find out just how special…"

* * *

That night, the Pevensie children went to bed around eight o' clock. Not because they were tired, and not because they had been ordered to by Mrs. Macready, but simply because there was nothing else to do. Lucy wasn't speaking to any of her siblings, understandably. Peter and Edmund were fuming at each other and risked a battle bloodier than Antietam when they had to talk to each other. Susan was trying to ease the tension while simultaneously trying to convince Lucy that Middle Earth didn't exist.

Needless to say, there were some hard feelings at the end of the day.

But as soon as she was certain Susan was asleep, Lucy ever so quietly got out of bed. She hadn't even changed her clothing- she had just made sure to get into bed before Susan and pull the covers up to her neck. Lucy picked up her shoes and carried them with her, not daring to put them on in case she made a noise.

When she got out of the room, Lucy was terrified all the way that she'd run into Professor Kirke or Mrs. Macready. While Lucy was a very logical little girl, she had just enough imagination to believe that Mrs. Macready would make her sleep in the stables. In the darkness, not risking a candle, Lucy navigated to the room with the wardrobe. She silently pulled the door open, and let it shut with a soft click behind her. There it was. The Wardrobe.

Tip-toeing over, Lucy put on her shoes, and grabbed the handle. Just then, a horrible thought struck her. What if the wardrobe didn't work? What if she bumped into a hard, wooden back instead of coming out into the orchard? Quickly pulling the door open, Lucy took a deep breath and stepped inside. She shut the door behind her, and counted the steps to the back.

One.  
Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

"Oh!" There it was! The drop after the end of the wardrobe! Lucy grinned and carefully stepped out of the wardrobe and into the grass. She ran out into the orchard, and saw that it was glowing with hundreds of fireflies. The Shire truly was a dream! Just then, it occurred to her that she hadn't asked Frodo where the party was. Then, she remembered him saying something about half the Shire being invited… So, that meant a lot of people, right?

Lucy ran a little farther, to the bank where Frodo had stood earlier that day to greet Gandalf. She looked straight on. Trees. To the right. Nothing. To the left- "Yes!" Lucy whispered. It looked more like a circus than a party. Frodo hadn't been exaggerating when he told her how many people had been invited. Lights sparkled in the darkness, and she could hear music playing.

Climbing down from the bank, Lucy went at a trot to the party. It was definitely something! When she arrived, she saw hundreds of men and women that were about her height, even though many looked far older than she was. "Now, where's Frodo?" She murmured, looking around for her friend. She walked past an old hobbit, who was telling a story to a group of hobbit children.

"…arguing, about how they were going to cook us- boiled over an open fire, roast us, or maybe sit on us one by one?" The children gasped. "Well, the trolls spent so much time arguing that the first rays of the sun shone, and puff!" The children jumped. "Turned them all to stone!" Lucy found herself listening to the story, and snapped out of it and looked around again. She wandered over to a group of tables, centered around a dancing area.

"Come on, Sam! Ask Rosie for a dance!" Came a delightfully familiar voice. Frodo was cajoling one of his friends into dancing. The other hobbit mumbled a vague reply that Lucy didn't quite catch, but he must have refused, because Frodo tugged him up and pushed him into the dancing circle, laughing. Lucy laughed too, and Frodo caught sight of his friend. "Lucy! You're here!" He looked around. "Where are your brothers and sister?"

Lucy's face fell and she plopped down next to him. "They didn't believe me when I got back," She said. "They thought I was making it up."

"What did you say?" Lucy repeated everything she said, and Frodo nodded. He didn't say it out loud, but he couldn't help but think that if his brother or sister said that to him, he'd think they were a little off as well. Nearby, Gandalf shot off another round of fireworks. They crackled in the air, and the sparks took on the shape of butterflies.

Lucy, momentarily forgetting about her siblings, stared. "Wow! How does he do that?" She asked Frodo. The hobbit grinned.

"Remember that wizard I told you about?" He nodded at the man directing the fireworks. "That's Gandalf the Grey. He's an old friend of Bilbo's. I told him about you, and he seems rather interested in speaking with you?" Lucy's eyebrows shot up.

"Me? Why would he want to talk with me?" Frodo shrugged.

And so, the night went on pleasantly. Frodo and Lucy danced, talked, laughed. Frodo introduced her to his friend, Samwise Gamgee, and Lucy temporarily forgot about the misery she had felt earlier that day. It was unusual for her to have this much fun by herself- and by herself, meaning without Peter, Susan or Edmund hanging around. It was a party full of strangers and adults, and yet she was totally at ease with her surroundings.

Eventually, Frodo had to go talk with his uncle, and Lucy was left to sit at a table by herself. Though, she was hardly lonely. So elated with the events, she swung her legs back and forth and hummed along with the music. She had definitely noticed by now that things were a bit more… Medieval… in Middle Earth, than on Earth. It looked like a scene out of a timeless fairytale, like Rumpelstiltskin or Snow White. You could only guess in general when they took place.

So, it was while she was sitting alone that Lucy caught the eye of one Gandalf the Grey. The wizard had just finished up with his first batch off fireworks, and was taking a break. He had some ale, and looked for a place to sit. And all at once, he saw her. The human that Frodo had invited to the party. He knew she was human, because she was taller than all the other children there; not to mention her ears were not pointed, like all hobbits.

Gandalf noticed that she did not look like human girls from Middle Earth. Her shoes were of strange make, and she wore strange material on her legs. Her skirt only went to her knees, and she wore an over-coat (or what appeared to be one) over her shirt. She had dark red hair, and a smile that seemed to grow as bright as the fireworks. Gandalf knew there was something odd about her- just something that didn't quite fit in with Middle Earth.

Quietly, the wizard approached the child. Lucy Pevensie was her name, if he recalled correctly. She didn't realize she was being watched until Gandalf made his presence known. "Hello, Miss Pevensie." He said in a friendly tone. Lucy jumped and whirled around. She recognized Gandalf on sight, and froze when she remembered Frodo saying that the wizard had wanted to talk to her.

Gandalf took a seat across from Lucy, and she now saw why he was called Gandalf the Grey. He was dressed in all gray robes, and his hair was gray as well. "Hello, Mr. Gandalf, sir," She said, half-awed, half-intimidated. He was, after all, a wizard. There was no telling how powerful he could be. Gandalf smiled at her, and she relaxed slightly.

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Pevensie. Please, call me Gandalf." Lucy nodded.

"All… All right… Then, you can call me Lucy." She said. Gandalf nodded.

"Lucy, then. Frodo tells me you appeared in the apple orchard this morning." Lucy nodded. "How did you come to be in the orchard?" Now Lucy hesitated. Peter and Susan hadn't understood, so how could she make Gandalf understand without thinking she was lying? Well, she did what she always did- stuck with the truth.

"I… I came through a wardrobe, Gandalf." She said. Gandalf's brow furrowed.

"A wardrobe?" He asked. But he said nothing like 'That's impossible!' or 'You're lying!'. He merely motioned for her to continue. Lucy nodded.

"You see, Mr.- I mean, Gandalf, my brothers and my sister- Peter, Edmund and Susan- and I were playing hide and seek, and I went up stairs, but all the doors were locked and Edmund kicked me out of the spot I was going to use, and so I went into the spare room and saw the wardrobe and I hid inside and when I tried to move to the back I fell out and into the orchard." Lucy finished. She had not paused for breath through the whole thing, and was panting slightly now. (So for all you nit-picks, the major run-on sentence was on purpose).

Gandalf nodded. "And then you met Frodo." He finished. Lucy nodded.  
"We talked… And he invited me to the party." She said.

"Yes…" Gandalf said, pulling out a wooden pipe and putting it in his mouth. He didn't smoke it, however. "He told me. He also said that your siblings were invited. Are they here?" He asked. Lucy dropped eye contact.

"No… They didn't believe me when I came back. They thought I was making it up." She said. Gandalf chewed on his pipe for a moment, thinking.

"I see… Where did this take place, Lucy? In your house?" Lucy shook her head.

"We're living in Professor Kirke's house right now. We were evacuated from London because of the war that's going on." She explained. "All the children in London were evacuated to the country because of the air raids." Gandalf cocked an eyebrow at this. He didn't know what an air raid was, but he deduced it must be something serious to make a city evacuate all its children.

"What was that Professor's name?" He asked.

"Kirke. Diggory Kirke." The name struck a bell with Gandalf, though he couldn't quite remember where he had heard it before. "Lucy, what-" Without warning, a massive, violent BOOM resonated through the party grounds. Now, if you can imagine poor Lucy right now; she had spent a very long time listening to loud BOOMing noises in London- follow by fire and screaming. Naturally, she was terrified out of her mind, and signaled it by screaming her lungs out.

A giant red and gold firework shaped like a massive dragon flew into the air, before diving low and barely scraping the top of the tents in the area. Lucy and Gandalf had to dive off their seats before their table was knocked over by the tail of the firework. Lucy covered her head and looked after the dragon as it sped over the lake, fizzled for a moment, and then exploded into a gigantic, spectacular show that made her laugh instead of scream. Lucy turned to see Gandalf standing up, looking none too happy.

His mug of ale was upside-down on top of his gray mop of hair.


	3. Warnings and Wraiths

Lucy stood up and dusted off her skirt while Gandalf pulled his ale mug off his head. "Are you all right, Gandalf?" The child asked. Gandalf nodded.

"Yes, Lucy, I am fine. But the ones responsible for that firework most certainly will not!" He growled, stomping off. Out of pure curiosity, Lucy followed. Gandalf marched up behind two noticeably charred Hobbits, who looked like someone had just thrown them down a chimney.

"That was great," One said.

"Let's get another!" Said the second.  
"OW!" This time, they both spoke as Gandalf grabbed both of them by an ear and pulled their heads back.

"Meriadoc Brandybuck," He said, looking at the first hobbit, "And Peregrin Took. I might've known…" The wizard muttered. "You two made the mess, and now you can help clean it up. Start on the dishes." Lucy giggled as Gandalf released the guilty party and walked back to the tables.

"Troublemakers," The wizard said, pulling up the table. "Always have been- and chances are, they always will be. Merry and Pippin, Pippin and Merry, like a slap to the face every time I have to deal with them." This time, Gandalf lit his pipe.

* * *

Once everything was all settled, Frodo took a spot next to Lucy and Gandalf as his uncle got up to make a speech. The assembled hobbits clapped and cheered, and Lucy took it that Bilbo Baggins was well-liked by the hobbits of Hobbiton.

(Okay, I'm getting a lot of this from the book)

"My dear Bagginses and Boffins, Tooks and Brandybucks, Grubbs and Chubbs, Burrowses and Hornblowers." Bilbo said. "Bolgers and Bracegirdles, Goodbodies, Brockhouses and Proudfoots."

"ProudFEET!" Someone yelled. Many laughed.

"Today's my one-hundred eleventh birthday! Too short of a time to live among such excellent and admirable hobbits. I don't know half of you as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

"What?" Lucy whispered to Frodo. The hobbit shrugged.

"I didn't catch it either," He said.

Lucy couldn't help but notice that Bilbo was beginning to look a little uneasy, and he began to stumble over his words. His hand dove into his pocket, and he began to fumble around with something. "And… Finally, I wish t-to make an… an announcement." He paused, looking over the assembly thoughtfully. Then he hardened. "I regret to announce, this is the end. I'm leaving now. I wish you all a very fond farewell." He looked at Frodo in particular as he said this. "Goodbye!"

And, without warning, Bilbo Baggins disappeared!

Lucy gasped and turned to Frodo, who looked stunned. "How did he do that?" She whispered. After a long pause, Frodo slowly shook his head.

"I don't know." He whispered.

* * *

There was much to be done- trash to be picked up, dishes to be taken home, and the like. Lucy knew it was now quite late, and every minute she spent in Middle Earth she risked Susan waking up and discovering her missing. But she felt bad that Frodo's uncle had just left without a trace, and helped him clean up most of the mess. Finally, it as time to go home.

"Before you go, would you like to see where I live? For future reference?" Frodo asked quietly. He seemed quite drained now, and Lucy felt it too. She agreed, knowing she could just follow the path back to the orchard later. Gandalf had seemed to disappear as well, though Lucy doubted that he had taken off like Bilbo. The walk to Frodo's house was sad and silent, and Frodo mostly stared at the ground.

When they reached his house, Bag-End, Lucy thought it was one of the neatest houses she had ever seen- It was built into the side of a hill! And it had the loveliest little round door that was just Lucy and Frodo's size. "It's wonderful," She said softly, hoping to cheer Frodo a little. He nodded, looking a little spacey at the door.

"There's always been a Baggins living in Bag-End… And there always will be." He muttered. He pulled the door open, and they were met with a surprising sight. Gandalf was in the house, parked in front of the fireplace. He didn't turn to look at them, even though he certainly knew they were there. Frodo's eyes narrowed, and he knelt down to pick something up off the floor.

Lucy squinted against the reflected firelight, and saw that it was a small, golden ring. Frodo stared at it for a moment, and then straightened up and turned to Gandalf. "He's really gone, isn't he?" He asked.

"Yes," Gandalf said. "He's gone to visit the elves… He's left you Bag-End."

"That was nice of him," Lucy whispered. Frodo nodded, though his mind didn't seem to be on his inheritance. He and Lucy walked over to Gandalf, who finally faced them. He saw the ring in Frodo's hand, and gave a soft smile.

"Ah," He said. "Bilbo's ring. I suppose he's left that to you as well." Gandalf rose from the chair, and walked to the door. "Come, Lucy, I think it's time you got back. You sister might notice you're gone. Oh, and Frodo?" He leaned over to Frodo and whispered. "Never put it on. Keep it secret. Keep it safe."

* * *

Gandalf seemed interested in personally escorting Lucy to the wardrobe, though she couldn't guess why. She was a bit too tired and overwhelmed to ask too many questions, and pretty much stayed silent until they got to the orchard. Finally, Lucy turned to Gandalf after she had scrambled onto the bank. "Gandalf," She said. "Why did you tell Frodo not to wear the ring?"

Gandalf froze, looking surprised, and then tilted his head down. He was wearing his pale blue hat, and the brim obscured his eyes from view. "So, you heard that, did you?" He asked quietly.

"Yes," Lucy said. "Please, Gandalf. Why don't you want him to wear the ring?" There was a long pause. It got to the point where Lucy figured she wasn't going to get an answer, and she prepared to leave. But, just then, Gandalf spoke.

"Lucy… That ring is the device that Bilbo used to disappear." Lucy's eyes widened.  
"Really?" She whispered. Gandalf nodded solemnly. Now he met her gaze with his own again.

"Yes." The wizard looked around cautiously. "Understand, child," He said in a low, solemn voice. "What I am about to tell you, you must not reveal to any other creature of this world. Your world, perhaps. But trust no one in this one.

"This ring that I speak of could possibly be the most dangerous weapon in Middle Earth. If that ring-" He gestured back towards Bag-End- "-Is one in the same with the weapon, then Middle Earth can be in grave danger. And, in turn, Frodo could be in great danger. There are agents of darkness after this weapon."

Lucy was totally silent for a moment, processing this. A weapon? A little, golden ring as a weapon? And what did Gandalf mean by "agents of darkness"?

"Lucy…" Gandalf stopped, briefly glancing away again. His gaze seemed to go up the road, away from Hobbiton. On that warm summers night, a chill ran through the air, and Lucy pulled her sweater closer around her. "I don't think you should return to Middle Earth. Things are happening. If all goes as I predict, we could all be in for something serious. When you get back to your world, I want you to either block the hole to our world, or destroy the wardrobe.

"If we fail to do our part in the time to come, your world may be in for something it simply cannot imagine. Please," Gandalf's expression was pleading, while Lucy stared, shocked. "For the sake of everything you hold dear, do not leave that portal open."

"But… How… Why…" Lucy whispered. Gandalf rummaged around in his robes for a moment, and came out with two things: A flute and, what appeared to be, a dagger. He handed them to her, and she took the gifts numbly.

"Take these, and may they hold your curiosity at bay. If ever a time comes when you need help, play that flute. Goodbye, Lucy Pevensie." And with that, he turned and walked away. Lucy, stunned, remained when she was for a moment, clutching the dagger and flute. She stared after Gandalf as he walked back to Hobbiton, and then just stood there a little longer.

Destroy the wardrobe? How could she do that? Why would she do that? The questions spun in her head, and her mind was clouded with possible theories as to why Gandalf would wish for her to not come back. None of them made any sense, and all she ended up with was a headache. Finally, the ten-year-old turned and stumbled through the foliage, crawling out of the wardrobe on all fours.

Numbly, she removed her shoes and stood up, feeling a little dizzy and very confused. She turned back to the wardrobe, and stared inside. She couldn't see the orchard through all the coats, but felt a gentle summer breeze blow against her as she shut the door. Being careful to keep quiet, she moved for the door to the hall. She stopped with her hand on the doorknob, and spared one final glance at the wardrobe before going back to her and Susan's room.

* * *

For the next two weeks, Lucy tried to avoid thinking about Middle Earth, Frodo, Gandalf and that strange little ring. She was itching to go back, but she also wanted to obey Gandalf's wishes. Whenever she felt a strong need to return to Middle Earth, she stared at the dagger and the flute.

The flute was fairly simple: wooden, with green and gold vines decorating it. The dagger she kept hidden under her pillow, God only knowing what would happen if Mrs. Macready or one of her siblings found it. The dagger had a black sheath, with a scraggly white tree on it. Nine white stars hovered over the top of the tree. As lovely as they were, they only made her more curious.

Since Lucy made no remark about Middle Earth or its inhabitants, Peter, Susan and Edmund didn't press the subject. They all avoided the spare room and the wardrobe as though it was a bomb.

Lucy was so sad and quiet, thinking about Frodo and Gandalf. More than once, Susan had asked if she was feeling all right. Peter thought that maybe Lucy was still depressed about him, Susan and Edmund not believing her, when in reality all the anger and hurt directed at them was gone. Lucy was still just obsessed with Middle Earth, and now she didn't care if they believed her or not.

Finally, one night, Lucy broke down. She went to see if Frodo was all right. At about nine o' clock, she snuck out of bed and repeated what she had done that first night, taking all the same precautions. But there were two things she forgot to do…

* * *

About a half an hour after Lucy had gone, Edmund awoke. He was thirsty, and went off to get a drink of water. But just as he closed the door to his and Peter's room, he noticed something: The door to his sisters' room was slightly ajar. Quietly, he shuffled forward and looked inside. On the right-hand side, he could make out Susan's motionless form.

He turned to Lucy's side, and saw it empty. Instantly, his mind went to the wardrobe. She was probably there now, trying to get back to 'Middle Earth'. After all, where else could she be? Immediately, Edmund forgot about the water and went off to give his sister a little scare. Now, keep in mind that Edmund isn't always so nasty- he's just incredibly stressed out about the war, and his father leaving, and the fact he's stuck in a house with absolutely nothing to do.

Quietly, he crept upstairs and into the spare room. He immediately noticed that, along with the bedroom door being ajar, Lucy had also left the wardrobe door open. "She must be in a hurry," He whispered to himself. Grinning, he crept up to the wardrobe. "Luuuucy…" He whispered. No response. "Luuuucyyy… Oh, come on out Lu, I know you're in there." He said. Still no response. "Don't make me come in there after you." He said.

When he received silence as a response, he just shook his head. "Fine, then, have it your way." And with that, Edmund stepped into the wardrobe and began to move to the back. "Lucy? Come on, this is stupid. Where are you?" He grumbled, spluttering as he got a mouth full of faux fur. "Lu? Lucy-YYYYY!" He yelped as he fell face first into a patch of grass.

Grass?

No. It couldn't be…

Edmund gaped and looked up. He was in an orchard, darkened by nightfall. Lucy hadn't been lying! There really _was_ a world on the other side of the wardrobe! Edmund stood up and looked around. He saw little other than trees, bushes and apples. It really was an orchard, just like Lucy had said. Now he felt horrible and guilty for teasing her about it. He decided that he should go find her, talk with her and, inevitably, apologize to her.

Sliding off the bank, Edmund started walking down the path… The wrong way. He was moving away from Hobbiton, into the forest. For two hours, the eleven-year-old walked. Though no one was out to see him, he knew he must look a strange sight- still in his bathrobe and slippers. He began to realize he was going the wrong way a while back, but just kept pressing forward, thinking that this place must be somewhere close by now…

Finally, Edmund just sat down on a rock and sighed. "Stupid, stupid. I should have turned back earlier. Stupid!" His mind was clouded with fatigue, and had been earlier, impairing his judgment slightly. A cold chill blew through the air, much akin to the one Lucy had experienced only two weeks before. Shivering, the boy pulled his robe around him.

A dark, heavy sort of presence filled the forest, and all was silent. The bugs did not chirp. The owls did not hoot. Even the wind recognized the presence and died down. Edmund sensed something vaguely, but did not act on it. Mind you, he was very tired, lost, and hungry. Suddenly, he heard something. A clomping noise, of sorts. He straightened up a little, remembering that he had heard this sound not long ago, somewhere…

The noise got louder. Whatever it was, it was getting closer. And as it did, the dark presence grew heavier and more foreboding. Now Edmund stood up, staring down the road in anxiety. Part of him was curious, and another part of him was screaming at him to run for his life. Just then, a black figure on a pure black horse appeared on the road. Edmund's eyes widened- the rider in black just seemed to come out of nowhere.

He dove backwards into the brush, and a minute later, he heard the horse stop in front of him. Now, Edmund looked up, terrified. He could not see a face beneath the hood, and he didn't need to. The figure was terrifying enough. _"Shire… Baggins… **Where is Baggins**?" _Came a positively unearthly hiss. Edmund was shaking like a leaf. Wait- hadn't Lucy said something about a Baggins? Frodo Baggins? Edmund struggled for his voice, and it became even harder to speak when he saw the rusty sword at the figure's side, should he unsheath it.

"I-I-I th-think he's in H-Hobbiton." Edmund choked. The Rider let out a low hiss, before tugging the reins of his horse and charging off the way Edmund had came. Edmund lay there for a moment, still reeling from the terrifying encounter. He had a rush of adrenaline, and started to run back to the orchard. What took him two hours before, he managed to turn into an hour and a half. He did not see the rider again.

It seemed like forever before he found the orchard again. Lucy would be able to find he way back on her own, if she hadn't already. He repeated this in his head as he scrambled out of the wardrobe and slammed the door shut. He had to compose himself before making his way back to his and his brother's room. Peter was still asleep.

Before he went in, Edmund peeked into Susan and Lucy's room and- to his relief- Lucy was there. With a sigh, Edmund shut the door and returned to his own room, not wanting to have anything more to do with Middle Earth. With any luck, that doorway would disappear, and they'd never hear from Middle Earth or anyone or anything to do with it again.

But then again, we can't all be lucky all of the time…

* * *

Okay, this chapter kinda stunk, but if it's any excuse, I've gone without sleep for almost twenty-four hours, and I've been working through the night.


	4. The Window and the Moth

Forgive me, I don't know the rules of cricket. Based on the movie, I think it's like baseball…?

Okay, I know the story's kind of dull now, nothing too exciting happening, but I swear, things will get much better, very soon. It'll either be by the end of this chapter, or the beginning of the next one.

* * *

The next day was a sunny one. Peter noticed that his siblings looked bored and depressed, so he suggested that they all go outside and play cricket. Lucy, who had not even been able to find Frodo the night before, silently agreed, trying not to look as horrible as she felt. Even though she knew it was risky, she wrapped the dagger in cloth and stuck it in the inner pocket of her sweater. The flute was in there too. Knowing they were there comforted her.

Susan played catcher, Edmund was at bat, and Peter was throwing. Lucy didn't play. She sat nearby and was reading a book, trying to distract herself. When her brothers and sister started the game, she only occasionally glanced up to watch. A little over-enthusiastic, Peter threw the ball a bit hard. "Peter winds up, poised to take yet another wicket!" He said.

"Ow!" Edmund yelped as the ball smacked into his leg.

"Whoops! Wake up, Dolly-Daydream." Peter said as Susan threw the ball back.

"Why can't we play hide and seek again?" Edmund asked, thinking that anything was better than his brother throwing hardballs at him.

"I thought _you_ said it was a kids game." Peter said.

"Besides, we could all use the fresh air." Susan said cheerfully.

"It's not like there isn't air inside," Edmund mumbled.

"Are you ready?" Peter said.

"Are you?" Edmund fired back. Clearly frustrated, Edmund tensed violently and prepared to knock this one out of the park- or, at least, into his older brother's face. Needless to say, Peter was a little unnerved at his brother's expression. But he went ahead anyway. The ball was thrown. Edmund swung the bat in a wide arc- and hit the ball straight on. It was going, going, going, still going…

_**CRASH. **_

…Right into a window. From the sounds that followed, the ball had hit something else when it landed. Four jaws dropped, and Lucy looked slightly amused at the horrified look on Edmund's face. All four Pevensies ran inside and upstairs, to discover that the ball had crashed into a suit of armor, knocking it over and smashing it. "Well done, Ed." Peter muttered.

"You bowled it!" Edmund cried. Just then, they all heard a voice they dreaded-

"_What on earth is going on up there?_"

"The Macready!" Susan gasped. And with good reason, too. _When Nazi Commander Macready sees this…_ Peter thought.

That was all he needed to think about.  
"Come on!" He screamed. The four children immediately ran for the nearest door, and hung a sharp left down a hall. Another sharp right through a doorway. Hung a left at the staircase… Up the stairs… Down the hall, all the doors locked, except the one at the end…

Peter ripped open the door to the spare room and ushered his brother and sisters in. "Come on!" He said, pulling open the wardrobe door and signaling for them to get in.

"You've got to be joking," Susan said.

"Do you have a better idea?" Peter asked. Lucy and Edmund exchanged horrified looks, without really knowing why the other one looked like they were dreading it. But no time to argue- Macready was getting closer. Peter pushed Susan in first, then Edmund, then Lucy, and then Peter leapt in himself, shutting the door behind him. "Move back!" He hissed to them. There were frantic shuffling noises and cries of pain and frustration as the four Pevensie children all tried to scuttle back in the pressing space.

Recall the night before, when it was hoped that the portal to Middle Earth would be gone?

That hope was dashed when Susan let out a yelp. She toppled backwards, followed by Edmund, Lucy, and finally Peter. Edmund let out a winded cough as his younger sister and older brother crushed down on him. Susan had managed to move a little, so she was only pinned by the legs. But she hardly noticed. She was too busy gaping at the apple orchard that now surrounded them. Peter was in a similar situation, with one minor difference…

"Peter! Gerroff!" Edmund grunted. Lucy had already slid out of the tangle, and was dusting herself off nearby. Peter rolled off his younger brother and stood up, looking around. He, like Susan, was totally shocked.

"This… Is… Impossible…" Susan breathed, her eyes unnaturally wide.

"Don't worry," Lucy said smoothly, folding her arms behind her back and pacing around a tree. "I'm sure it's just your imagination." She sent them a wry smirk. Peter and Susan exchanged embarrassed looks. Edmund looked at the ground. He had been about to defend himself, but remembered that no one knew about his little journey in the forest the night before. No one needed to say anything, though; because Lucy stopped and stared out at the road ahead.

"Sorry, Lu," Peter said sheepishly. "I suppose we've been real arses, haven't we?"

"Yes," Lucy said plainly. "You have." She sighed. "But I suppose it doesn't matter. We should head back. Frodo, Sam, and Gandalf aren't here. I checked last night." She didn't notice Edmund shifting uncomfortably nearby.

"You're certain?" Susan asked. "Now that we… er… know they're real, they sound like wonderful people. We'd like to meet them." Lucy sighed.

"No, I-" Suddenly, she froze, remembering something. The flute. _Whenever you need help, play that flute._ If Gandalf had thought she wasn't coming back to Middle Earth, why would he give her the flute and tell her that? Very confusing, but maybe Lucy could find Frodo this way. Quietly, she pulled out the flute as her siblings watched.

Shakily, she blew a few hesitant notes. Nothing worthy of composition, but Gandalf hadn't said anything about a song. "Lu?" Peter asked. "What are you doing?" Lucy turned and held up the flute.

"Gandalf gave it to me," She said softly. "He… He said that if I needed help, I should play it. I thought maybe something might happen." She looked around. "But I don't think it worked." Susan came up and put a hand on Lucy's shoulder.

"Well… Do you have any idea where they might have gone?" She asked. Lucy shook her head.

"No. You see… Gandalf asked me not to come back."

Unbeknownst to Lucy, just as she spoke this, a little white moth fluttered forward and landed on a nearby tree. It observed the children through insectoid eyes, its unusual nose curling and uncurling as it inhaled and exhaled. Its buggy eyes landed on the flute in Lucy's hands, and instantly knew that this was the person that had summoned it.

Carefully, the moth twittered down and landed on Lucy's shoulder. "But Lucy, why did Gandalf… Hey, what's that on your shoulder?" Edmund asked, suddenly noticing the moth. Lucy turned her head, blinking in surprise. Unlike most bugs, this moth did not fly away when it was seen. It did flutter its wings in a friendly manner against Lucy's cheek, though, and fluttered into the air in front of her.

Lucy felt drawn to the moth, as though it was calling to her. Peter and Edmund stepped closer, to observe the creature. "A rather unusual moth, don't you think?" Peter said. "A bit bigger than the ones back home. Do you think this is the Middle Earth version of them?" He held out his hand, and the moth lazily floated into the palm of his hand. Then, something occurred to Lucy. Something strange, mysterious, and just a little crazy.

"I think… It wants us to follow it." She said softly. "Maybe it can take us to Frodo or Gandalf."

"How could a moth lead us somewhere? Why would it want to?" Susan asked. She didn't sound very skeptical, though she definitely seemed more curious.

"Su, after all you've seen, you are still honestly looking for a logical explanation as to why a moth would want to guide us somewhere?" Peter asked.

"No. Just curious." Susan murmured, still eyeing the moth with a strange look. Lucy turned to her older siblings pleadingly.

"Can we follow it? Please?" She begged. Peter, Susan and Edmund exchanged looks for a moment.

"I'm game. How about you?" Peter said. Susan glanced back towards the wardrobe, and then nodded.

"I'm in." She agreed. "Ed?"

"We… We don't know what's out there, do we? It could be dangerous. And what about the Professor? He'll be wondering where we are soon." Edmund said. All the while, the image of that black figure remained in his head. He definitely didn't want to run into it again.

"Well, Edmund, we have two choices." Peter said reasonably. "We can explore Middle Earth a little, or we can go back and face Mrs. Macready." He put the last part rather bluntly. "Your choice?" Edmund squirmed uneasily. He didn't ever want to see that figure in black again. But he also didn't want to explain to Mrs. Macready how the window and the suit of armor got broken. Macready, creepy figure. Macready, creepy figure.

Not much competition, really.

"Let's go," Edmund muttered. Lucy clapped her hands excitedly.

"Yes! Lead the way!" She said to the moth. It turned to her, and then fluttered out of Peter's hand and into the air. It drifted towards the road, and Lucy trotted after it, followed by Edmund and Peter. Susan hesitated, looking up at the apples in the tree above her. The trees were relatively short, as they were grown that way for hobbits, so the apples were only about an inch or so over her head. Susan reached up and plucked about five from the tree, and ran after her brothers and sister.

"Here," She said, handing out an apple each to them, and holding the last two herself. "In case we get hungry along the way."

"Good idea." Peter said. Susan had always been the practical and logical member of the family. Very down-to-earth. Peter was responsible, mind you, but he did have his moments where he was a bit dreamy and oblivious. Not to say that Susan didn't have her moments of pure hysteria as well, as was demonstrated during some of the more violent air raids back in London.

As they walked, Lucy told them about all that she had experienced in the Shire- especially Bilbo's party. She told them of Hobbits, Gandalf, Sam and Frodo. She told them about Merry, Pippin, and the gigantic firework they had set off. When she told them about Gandalf coming up with the ale mug on his head, they laughed. For a while, she managed to distract even Edmund, who momentarily forgot about the black rider, and the terror he had felt the night before.

Lucy was so good at distracting her siblings; they didn't even notice when the moth led them into the forest and across several fields. They also didn't seem to notice the sun getting lower until it had almost set. At this point, Peter looked up from the conversation and froze. "Whoa, Lucy- I think it's time we headed back- It's almost night." Lucy's face fell.

"But we haven't found them yet!" She protested.

"I agree, Lucy," Susan said. "The Professor and Mrs. Macready are probably looking for us. We should turn around and head…" At this, Susan's eyes widened and she looked back. "…Back… But… Peter, do you know the way back." Peter blanked.

"… Er… Ed? Do you?" He asked. Edmund shook his head.

"And neither do I!" Lucy said gleefully. "So, we have to keep following the moth! We don't know how to get back!" It was rather odd, hearing her say this so happily, when others would have been saying it with horror or anxiety.

"Hold on," Peter said. He walked up to the moth, which was hovering in the air, waiting for the children. He held out his hand, and the moth fluttered into it, grateful for a moment to rest its wings. "Er, Moth, can you please lead us back to the apple orchard? We need to get home now." The moth flapped its wings, and flew… the same way it had been going before.

"Maybe it doesn't know the way back either…" Lucy said mischievously. Peter sighed and shrugged at Susan and Edmund.

"I suppose we don't have a choice…" He said. Susan winced and Edmund groaned. The younger boy took a bite of his apple and marched forward.

"Let's go, then." He muttered. Lucy clapped her hands happily and almost skipped onward. What an adventure they were having! Little did any of the Pevensie children know, their adventure was about to get much more exciting- and not in a good way. For the moment they stepped into Middle Earth, a dark presence sensed their arrival.

Someone was looking for them… And it wasn't Gandalf.

* * *

The four children trekked onward, deep into the night. The darkness finally became so much, and they were so tired that they had to rest for a while and get some sleep. "Make yourselves comfortable." Peter mumbled. "Get some sleep, even. This is taking longer than I thought it would." The others were silent. Even Lucy had lost her exuberance some time ago. Edmund was shaking slightly, remembering what happened the last time had been in Middle Earth at night.

"Maybe we should try to find a house and ask for directions," Susan suggested sleepily as she curled up against a rock.

"I haven't seen any. Have you?" Peter asked. Susan yawned and shook her head, shutting her eyes. No one made any noise after that, instead choosing to fall asleep. Lucy's head rested on some leaves, the moth settling near her head and also sleeping. They weren't aware of the approaching danger, arriving swiftly from ahead. And they wouldn't until the next morning.

But for now, the Pevensies slept.

* * *

Many miles away, Gandalf was tired and had just reached Rivendell. He was just greeting Lord Elrond, and telling him of Saruman's treachery. "We have lost the help of Isengard. Saruman is breeding an army. War in imminent." Gandalf told the elven lord. Elrond nodded gravely.  
"This is a most serious matter, Gandalf. I will give it my immediate attention. But I have been asked to give you a message; from Lady Galadriel." He said. "She has told me something quite queer, that I cannot make sense of. She told me that only you would be able to. She says, _'The Pevensies have entered our world, and they face great danger- The Nazgul are looking for them. You must meet them in Bree'_." He gave the wizard a serious look. "What does that mean to you, Gandalf?"

For Gandalf had a stricken look on his face. "It means that four children are being chased by Sauron's agents. My friend, I need a horse. I must find them."


	5. Ambush in the Barrow Downs

Author's Note: You know, I never thought I'd post this story. I came up with the idea- the plot, summary, rating, genre, all that, but then the layout was left in my hard drive to rot. Only got a few words into the first chapter, and then left it there. Then, I saw the Chronicles of Narnia again, and I got divine inspiration to continue.

I thank all of you reviewers for motivating me to continue this story, as I probably would not have been motivated enough to continue without your wonderful support. _Merci_, reviewers.

* * *

The next day was rainy and dark- almost as dark as the night before. Mist hung heavily in the air, which was thick with moisture. The four children were like zombies, nibbling on the apples they had brought with them conservatively. They were incredibly thankful that Susan had thought to bring them. Lucy offered a piece of apple to the moth, and it seemed to be able to chew on the softer part a bit.

When it fluttered up into the misty air, the Pevensies took it as the cue to start walking. They didn't move quickly, as they had the day before, but now a bit more slowly. They were tired, worried, and dreading what Mrs. Macready and the Professor would say when they returned to the house. It certainly wasn't going to be good. They spent the time walking imagining all the gruesome things Mrs. Macready probably had in store for them…

Just when things seemed so monotonous, something happened- Lucy accidentally stepped in a beehive. Actually, it was a wasp nest. As the wasps shot out, the children cried out and ran in all sorts of directions for cover from the stingers. They ran haphazardly, not seeing that they were working themselves farther and farther away from each other.

Lucy in particular ran far, the moth sticking by her. When the buzzing stopped, so did she. Lucy hadn't been stung, and it took a moment for the adrenaline rush to die down. When she was relaxed, she looked about for her siblings again. She saw no one. "Peter?" She called. No response. "Susan?" Again, nothing. "Edmund?" Do I need to say it? Lucy was alone, save for the moth, which landed on her shoulder. "Oh no. I suppose they're still back there." She said to it.

As the girl and the moth began to walk back towards where she had last seen her brothers and sister, something began to feel wrong to Lucy. Something just didn't seem right to her. For a moment, she briefly wondered if the moth felt it as well, for it often scuttled around on her shoulder, and flapped its wings in an almost nervous manner. Lucy stopped walking. The darkness of the forest was pressing, and she felt incredibly stiff, suddenly.

Lucy wouldn't be first one to see what was giving her that feeling. Many yards off, that privilege fell to Susan and Edward. They had managed to stay together when the wasps attacked, and were now looking for Lucy and Peter. "They can't have gone too far," Susan said. "And stop rubbing at that. You'll make it worse." For Edmund was rubbing at the sting he had received. Susan had checked, and saw that there was no stinger stuck in it, but it still hurt.

"It hurts," He muttered. "And it's not like I'm picking at it or anything." Susan sighed and left it at that, not wishing to start a quarrel with her younger brother. Just then, she stopped dead. Edmund, who had been walking half-behind, half-beside his sister, crashed into her and flinched when the sting wound gave a fresh throb. "Why did you-" Suddenly, he froze as well. He saw what his sister saw.

They had been so distracted a moment before, that they hadn't seen the figure in a black cloak only a couple of yards off. Edmund went pale, and he started shaking again. "S-Susan…" He whispered. He wrapped an arm around his older sister's, and felt that she, too, was shaking. The figure was looking right at them. There was a pause, and they found themselves too scared to move.

They found new inspiration when the figure drew forth a rusty, jagged sword from a hidden scabbard.

"_RUN!_" Susan screamed, turning and giving her brother a shove. They both ran for their lives through the forest, gaining serious speed when they heard the creature give a positively unearthly shriek and began to pursue them. Along the way, Susan stumbled, and Edmund had to seize her arm to help her keep her balance and keep running.

"Hurry! It's gaining on us!" He cried. Just then, Susan saw something very welcome- a large tree, with roots that spread about like a cage. Just about large enough for an eleven-year-old boy and a fourteen-year-old girl to get into, but too small for the thing chasing them. Edmund slid down and in, tugging Susan in after him. She threw an arm around his shoulder, and they pressed up against a bunch of tangled roots as the figure- was it man, or was it a creature?- stopped.

_Go away,_ Susan pleaded in her mind. _Please, just go away and leave us alone… _No such luck. With the sound of a sword whistling through the air, the thing began to hack away at the branches. Susan and Edmund screamed in terror. The roots were very thick and strong- they could hold the thing back for a while. But only for so long!

"PETER! HELP!" Susan screamed.

Not far off, Peter was running around, frantically looking for his siblings. He had heard a scream a few minutes before, and was beginning to panic.

"PETER! HELP!" He suddenly heard.

"Susan!" He cried. "Where are you?" He ran in the direction that he thought the scream came from, hoping and praying that she hadn't been harmed. Their mother had entrusted him with the task of looking after his younger brother and sisters, and Peter didn't take that responsibility lightly. He had always been protective of them; like that time some jerk from their school had decided to look up Susan's skirt. He had pounced on the boy, and a massive fist-fight broke out. When his mother scolded him later for his black eye, he simply said, "So? The idiot that did it has two."

He had always protected them- Lucy and Edmund from the bullies on the playground, Susan from the catty girls at their school. It had always been his job. This time, he had to get them out of a more dangerous situation, which he quickly realized as he came upon the battleground. He saw the figure hacking away at the tree roots, and heard Edmund whimpering from under the tree. It didn't take a genius or a detective to deduce that Susan must've been under there with him.

Glancing down, Peter picked up a rock. "HEY!" He yelled. Much like he had only yesterday with Edmund, Peter chucked the rock at the cloaked figure. Only this time, he _wanted_ it to hit the target (Not too different from yesterday, actually, but this time there wasn't any mean-spirited-ness in the throw). The figure had turned at Peter's shout, and was instantly met with a rock to the face. Hissing in anger, it turned away from its current targets and rounded on the oldest child.

"Peter?" Edmund cried.  
"Stay where you are!" Peter yelled as the figure lunged at him. He deftly- and barely- managed to avoid a swipe of the figure's sword, which slammed into the ground to his left. "Come and get me!" He entreated his faceless opponent. The other gladly obliged, swinging at Peter like a madman.

As Peter drew the black rider's attention away from Susan and Edmund, Lucy was running at full speed towards the screams and other disconcerting noises she heard. _What on earth is going on? _She thought, frightened. The moth fluttered along beside her, having been jostled too violently when riding on her shoulder.

Suddenly, Lucy stopped dead, seeing Peter and the figure. "PETER!" She screamed, terrified at the situation. Peter whirled, startled by his youngest sibling's sudden appearance. Unfortunately, this was just the distraction the figure needed. It knocked Peter away from Lucy, and turned its back on her as it hovered over the boy. Lucy watched on, horrified, when Peter let out a strangled scream- The figure had stabbed him in the shoulder!

Without warning, Lucy's fear quickly turned to fury. She remembered- she still had the dagger Gandalf had given her in her sweater. Without thinking, she ripped it out, unsheathed it, and ran up to the creature. "LEAVE- MY- BROTHER- ALONE!" She screamed, plunging the dagger into its back. A violent, screaming pain enveloped Lucy, and she let out an agonized scream, thrown back by an invisible force a second later.

"Lucy!" Peter cried. The figure let out a long, horrible wail, and Lucy, even in her condition, had to throw her hands over her ears from the sheer intensity of the scream. When it ended- it felt like an eternity later, and everyone's ears were ringing- the children opened their eyes and saw that the cloaked rider had disappeared; seemingly into thin air.

Peter anxiously half-crawled, half-hobbled over to Lucy, clutching his shoulder where he had been stabbed. He was pale, and looked petrified. "Lu? Oh God, Lucy, you're all right. You screamed like you were being murdered!" He whispered, immediately seizing her in a hug. Susan and Edmund rushed over, inspecting both of their siblings. Lucy pushed her brother back a little, panting. She did a double take when she saw Peter's shoulder.

"Peter! You're bleeding!" She cried.  
"It's just a scratch," He said distractedly. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes! And don't lie- That's hardly a scratch!" Lucy cried. And she was right- blood was furiously pumping out of Peter's shoulder. The wound wasn't large, but it was deep enough to be a threat. The sword must have nicked an artery when he was stabbed. Susan quickly took off her sweater and wrapped it tightly around the wound, making a tourniquet.

"We need to get that looked at," She said seriously. "Soon. It may hold the blood in for a while, but it will eventually seep through."

"Lucy… Where did you get that?" Peter asked. They all saw the dagger that Lucy still clutched with a death-grip in her hand.  
"Gandalf gave it to me," She whispered. Peter and Susan exchanged dark looks.

"Another excellent reason for us to have a word with him, then." Peter mumbled, clearly unhappy with the idea that the wizard had given his ten-year-old sister a weapon. Though, a part of him wasn't too mad- if Gandalf hadn't given Lucy the dagger, they could have all been killed.

The four of them immediately set off, the moth continuing to lead the way. It seemed to go much faster than before- certainly faster than any other bug they had ever seen. But, then again, this didn't appear to be any ordinary moth. Rain started later in the afternoon, and they had to cover their heads as they ran.

Unlike most flying insects, the moth didn't seem bothered by the rain. It somehow managed to avoid dropping out of the air as it got thoroughly soaked; a feat all but impossible for other bugs, who normally had special power on their wings to help them fly.

Peter was feeling weaker and weaker as they ran, and his shoulder throbbed so painfully he had to clench his teeth to keep from groaning. He didn't want to worry his siblings. Just then, they saw something up ahead- lights. "A town!" Lucy exclaimed.

"What if that thing is here?" Edmund whispered.

"We'll have to risk it," Susan said. She kept sending worried glances at Peter, knowing that every minute wasted meant another bit of blood being lost.

With renewed vigor, the four children ran to a small town. They went up to the gate, which looked as though it had been knocked down- indeed, the shattered remains of a door were nearby.

The Pevensies navigated the muddy streets, seeing many people covered in mud and sludge going about their business. Susan realized that she and her siblings must have looked pretty dirty themselves. She looked around, and then saw a sign above a door- "The Prancing Pony Inn," She read. "Come on, in here." She pulled open the door, and they were immediately met with firelight and warmth. Some fairly loud chatter could be heard, and it was a welcoming scene.

The two boys and two girls earned some stares from the patrons of the inn as they moved farther inside, and they realized what a mess they must have looked like- muddy, wet, and it Peter's case, blood-stained. The Inn-keeper turned to look at them. "Looking for a room, children?" For a moment, they were speechless, still trying to regain their breath. Lucy realized that the moth had found a place on her shoulder again, drying itself from the rain.

"Please, sir," Susan spoke up, being careful to stay quiet. "Our brother's hurt." She pulled Peter forward and gestured to her sweater, wrapped tightly around his shoulder. Blotches of blood had begun to show through it, though it wasn't totally visible, as Susan's sweater was fairly dark. The Inn-keeper's eyes narrowed as he examined the make-shift bandage.

"Aye," He said. "I-"

"I can take it from here, Butterbur," Came a deep, familiar (at least, to Lucy) voice. Lucy spun around.  
"Gandalf!" She gasped. The gray-haired wizard had appeared behind the Pevensies, looking a bit relieved to see them.

"Come with me, children." With a nod to Butterbur, Gandalf beckoned for the children to follow him. Peter, Susan and Edmund were stunned- Gandalf had a very strong presence, and it seemed as though he had been waiting for them. He led them up a narrow, wooden staircase and down a hall to a room. Five beds were there, and Gandalf motioned for them to sit down on one.

The wizard went over to a bag on the fifth bed, and rummaged through it for a moment, looking for something. "Please remove the tourniquet from your arm- Are you Peter, or Edmund?" He said.

"Peter," Peter said, carefully unwinding Susan's stained sweater from his shoulder. Gandalf nodded, turning around, revealing a roll of bandages in his hand.

"And I take it you-" He looked at Susan- "-Are Susan, and you-" He turned to Edmund- "-Are Edmund." They both nodded slowly, and Gandalf went about bandaging up Peter's shoulder properly. His brother and sisters waited in silence. Lucy felt anxious, waiting for Gandalf to ask why she had come back. She knew it was coming; a reprimand for coming back, and a lecture about how it had almost gotten her and her siblings all killed.

When the old man finished, he put the bandages back, and addressed the children. "What happened?" He asked simply.

"We… We were attacked." Edmund said. "By someone… Or something… In a black cloak, in the forest." There was a pause.

"I see. Peter, do you feel ill?"

"No, sir." Another pause. Longer this time.

"I see you've returned, Lucy. And with your siblings." Gandalf made no remark about his request to Lucy the last time they had met.

"I… wanted to see Frodo and Sam." She said softly. "The moth came, and we followed it into the wilderness." She continued on, telling him about how they got lost, and had no choice but to follow the moth. She told him about the attack, while Susan, Edmund and Peter chipped in.

"Speaking of which," Susan said, a hint of irritation in her voice, "What business do you have giving a ten-year-old girl a dagger?" Gandalf sighed.

"Honestly, I did hoped she would never find a need for it." He said. "But I gave it to her, just in case she decided to come back to Middle Earth."  
"But why?" Susan pressed.

"We are facing dangerous times here, Miss Pevensie." Gandalf said. "The majority of Middle Earth has no idea about the danger yet, but it is there, none the less. I was worried that Lucy may have encountered trouble if she attempted to return, so on an impulse, I gave her the dagger. I apologize for not getting your consent first, though I could not have." Susan nodded.

"All right… Now, what was that thing that attacked us?" She asked. Everyone waited, breathless, for his response.

"That," He said. "I do not dare utter here. You will soon know what it was. Within the next day or two, if we hurry. But for the time being, you four will come with me to Rivendell. For some reason, that creature and others like it are after you, and another. You will be safe there."

"What is Rivendell?" Peter asked.

"It is an elven city," Gandalf replied. "One of the last. They are leaving Middle Earth." He turned to Lucy. "Frodo and Sam are in Rivendell, along with Merry and Pippin." He cocked an eyebrow at this. "I believe you remember them, yes?" Lucy giggled, remembering the incident with the firework. "I would like the four of you to get some sleep. We set out early tomorrow." Gandalf then left the room, saying only that he had some business to take care of.

The Pevensies could do nothing but obey his orders and climb into bed and try to sleep. Just as Gandalf left, the moth fluttered away from Lucy and followed the Wizard out the door. "Do you have to leave now?" She asked it. The moth stopped, turned, and fluttered its wings a little faster. Lucy took that as a "Yes". "Oh… Bye then," She whispered. The moth fluttered out the door.

"Elves," Lucy whispered to herself as Susan blew out the candle. "We're going to see the elves…"


	6. Rivendell

The next morning, just as Gandalf promised, they all left early. The wizard woke Susan first, who then roused the others. They all silently ate breakfast downstairs, bade Butterbur a 'thank-you' and a goodbye before going outside. The rain had stopped, and the sun was shining through the misty morning. Gandalf led the four to three horses in a nearby stable.

"Have any of you ridden a horse before?" He asked.

"No," Peter said. "We've ridden in carts, but not on horses themselves." Gandalf nodded.  
"It's simple enough," He said. "Peter and Edmund, you get on this horse- Susan and Lucy, on this one. I would suggest the older ones in front. Take the reins- use them to direct the horse. Tug gently, as they may become irritated. When you want the horse to go faster, give them a nudge in the side with your foot. Again, do it gently; the harder you do it, the faster they go. The faster they go, the more likely you are to fall off. Yes, just like that." He said as he mounted his own horse and watched the Pevensies direct their own.

They quickly set of down the road at a canter, causing Lucy and Edmund to grip Susan and Peter hard. Clearly, Gandalf wanted to get to Rivendell quickly. They charged along for hours, and the children managed to keep themselves balanced on the horses as they rode. They stopped at midday to eat, and then quickly moved on. They sensed that Gandalf was worried about running into the creature that attacked them the day before, and couldn't honestly disagree with his reasoning.

That night, while they slept, Gandalf remained totally awake and alert. Lucy watched him, and was the last to fall asleep because of it. The next morning, like the last, they ate a hurried breakfast and got moving again. They hadn't spoken much since the night they arrived at the Prancing Pony. All that mattered was haste. The rode until a little after midday, and Gandalf stopped them.

"Do you see that river?" He asked, nodding to one that lay ahead of them. "This marks the border of Rivendell. We're almost to the city." They didn't stop for some time, until they came to an outlook that showed a spectacular view of a beautiful valley. And in that valley, the children observed a magnificent city. Lucy's mouth opened slightly in awe, and she saw that her siblings had done the same.

"It's gorgeous," Susan whispered. Gandalf offered a small smile.

"Yes. The Elves are known for their excellent craftsmanship. Come- Lord Elrond is expecting me back. Here, Lucy, is where your friends are. I was not here when they arrived, but they should have reached here some time last night." Lucy turned to him and whispered,  
"Gandalf, why did they come here? Why did they leave the Shire?" Gandalf's face became grave.

"You will soon know." He said darkly. "Now come."

They proceeded at a trot, and within minutes, they had reached the city. Elves, lovely, lithe people milled around the city, going about their daily business. They looked a little surprised to see Gandalf and four children riding in. Gandalf led them to a large building that looked very much like a palace, and they dismounted there. On the steps of the palace stood a man with long, dark hair, wearing robes vaguely similar to Gandalf's.

The man examined the Pevensies as they approached through narrowed eyes. He did not look unkind, but he did look very intimidating. "Lord Elrond," Gandalf said as they approached. "Greetings. I have returned."

"And with four children," Lord Elrond said, his eyes briefly lingering over each child. They had cleaned up slightly after their mishap in the woods, and didn't look nearly as bad as they had before. "The Pevensies, I take it? What are your names?"

"Peter."

"Edmund.

"Susan."

"Lucy." They sounded off. Elrond nodded. He beckoned Gandalf forward, and the two murmured together, occasionally glancing at the children. When they pulled apart, Elrond nodded solemnly.

"Right," He said. "Many have arrived, Gandalf, and I need to speak with you further in private." He turned to the Pevensies. "Miss Pevensie," He said, directing the comment at Lucy, who was clutching Susan's hand. "I believe you are acquainted with Samwise Gamgee, Meriadoc Brandybuck, and Peregrin Took?" Lucy nodded.

"Yes, sir, I am." She said.

"They are in the dining area, down this hall-" He gestured to a hallway, visible behind him- "-On the first left. Frodo Baggins is resting, and currently unavailable. You may stay in the dining area until he awakes." Lucy nodded again.

"Yes, thank you, sir." Susan, Edmund and Peter also muttered thanks to Lord Elrond before moving down the hall, towards the dining area. When they were out of earshot, Elrond turned to Gandalf again.

"All right, Gandalf, you have me interested. Those children are definitely different from other humans I've seen. They dress differently, their hair is styled differently- Where are they from?" Gandalf sighed.  
"I believe I have much explaining to do, my friend."

* * *

The children took Elrond's directions and found themselves in a vast dining hall, with various people milling about. But three men, all or short stature, stuck out in particular to Lucy. "Sam!" She called. The three turned as the Pevensies approached. When they got closer, Peter, Susan and Edmund got the idea that these were Hobbits.  
"Miss Lucy! What on earth are you doing here?" Sam, a blonde hobbit, asked, though not unhappily. On the contrary, he seemed quite joyful to see her. Lucy's blanked.

"Er… We… Uh…" She murmured, trying to find a way to explain why they were there.  
"It's a long story," Susan cut in, smiling.

"A _very_ long story." Edmund added quickly.

"Aye, but I bet yours is nowhere near as long as ours." One hobbit said. "Meriadoc Brandybuck- It's a pleasure. And this is my cousin, Peregrin Took."  
"But you may call us Merry and Pippin." Pippin said with a grin. Finally relaxing, Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy sat down, starting up conversation with the three hobbits. They were unaware, a good twenty or so minutes later, that Gandalf and Elrond were watching them.

"Extraordinary…" The Elven lord whispered, watching the four Pevensies with astonishment. "They survived a wraith attack unarmed?"

"Not quite," Gandalf said. "Recall, Lucy had the dagger."

"In any case," Lord Elrond said. "For four inexperienced children, all of which uninformed of the specific dangers in our world, managed to survive what some of the finest warriors in Middle Earth could not." He shook his head. "Frankly, I am stunned."

"They are not totally unaccustomed to fear, Lord Elrond," Gandalf said. "I've gathered that much from what Lucy has told me about the living conditions in their home. Apparently, there is a rather violent war on, and they happened to be in the middle of it." He explained. He couldn't help but also thinking, _Much like the one we may be faced with now._

"You said they had questions?" Elrond said, looking back to the children and the hobbits. "About the Ring Wraiths?"

"Yes," Gandalf said. "And I suspect they aren't going anywhere until they get the answers they seek. They were almost killed, after all. I suppose it gives them a right to know what attacked them." There was a pause after this, and the wizard could see that Lord Elrond was thinking.

"Gandalf," He said slowly. "As you know, delegates from distant countries have come to Rivendell in the past few days, seeking my council." He now met Gandalf's eyes. "I am calling a secret council, to be held tomorrow afternoon. I will permit Peter and Susan to attend, but I would prefer Edmund and Lucy stay out, with Sam, Meriadoc and Peregrin."

"Right. And they may address their concerns at the council?"

"Yes. Though, Gandalf, I will warn both you and them- I will not stand for any childish outbursts."

"You need not worry. Peter and Susan are two of the most dignified, responsible, and well-behaved children I have ever seen. They will not cause a problem." Elrond gave a small smile.

"Good."

* * *

That night, after spending some time exploring Rivendell with Sam, Merry and Pippin, the four Pevensies returned to the dining hall for dinner. They met the hobbits at the same place they had met earlier, and laughed and talked again. But a few minutes into the conversation, Sam suddenly stopped and looked up from it. "Aye," He muttered. "So there he is."

Lucy and her siblings leaned back to see a tall, rugged looking man entering the hall. He had dark hair that went to his shoulders, and a matching goatee. His gray eyes were unusually piercing, and held a power and authority behind them that greatly reminded Lucy of Gandalf. "Who is he?" She whispered to Pippin.

"That's Strider," He said. "We met up with him in Bree, and he took us to Rivendell. Frodo was stabbed shortly after we met him."

"Stabbed!" Lucy cried suddenly, her attention torn away from Strider. "You told me he was hurt; You never said anything about him being stabbed! Who would do something like that?" Behind her, Peter felt suddenly very cold, and a phantom pain stabbed at his shoulder. Absently, he rubbed the wound, flipping his eyes between Strider and Lucy.

"What? Don't you know about the Ring-"  
"Greetings," Pippin was swiftly cut off when Strider reached their table and greeted them. "Merry, Samwise, Pippin- I see you've made some new friends." Strider remarked.

"Yes! These are the Pevensies- Lucy, Edmund, Susan and Peter." Merry said, pointing out each of the Pevensies as he spoke. Strider nodded to each of them, and the children offered their own greetings as they were introduced.

"A pleasure." Strider said, sitting down next to Merry and across from Peter. "I believe I heard Gandalf mention you all earlier." Susan and Peter exchanged confused looks.  
"In reference to what?" Peter asked. Strider gave a light shrug.  
"I do not know. I didn't stay around long enough to hear about it." He met their eyes directly. "Though, I suppose it would involve the meeting taking place tomorrow afternoon."  
"Meeting?" Sam echoed.

"Yes, it involves…" Strider glanced briefly at the Pevensies. "…The situation with Frodo. I believe that you two-" He motioned to Susan and Peter- "-Have been summoned."

"What about us?" Edmund asked. Strider shook his head. "What? Why can't we go?"

"Don't ask me," Strider said simply. "And don't shoot the messenger. I am merely repeating what I have heard about the area." Edmund settled into a moody silence, and the following meal proceeded as such. Lucy didn't look too pleased with the idea of being left out either- being the youngest, she was left out of a lot of things. But, at least this time, Edmund was out with her.

Strider must have sensed that he depressed the two younger children, and tried to start up some conversation. He asked how they were liking Rivendell, and how long they had been there. This led the Pevensies to dodging around why they were there at all. On an impulse, they all wordlessly agreed to avoid the subject of where they were really from. They didn't think Strider, Sam, Merry or Pippin would believe them, anyway.

* * *

Okay, this chapter was kinda bad, but I don't really have any ideas for this. Sorry it ended kind of awkwardly, but I couldn't really think of anything else…


	7. The Council of Elrond

NOTE: Okay, I know you're all gonna kill me for updating so late- my humble apologies, as I was wrapped up in the Kingdom Hearts, Final Fantasy and Cirque Du Freak Fandoms.

I added a bit into Elrond's speech, for reasons that will become clear when you read the passage. There are a few things added in the council scene as well, for reasons that will also become obvious later on.

* * *

The next morning, the council was confirmed- along with the fact that only Susan and Peter (out of the four Pevensies) would be allowed to attend the meeting. Around ten o' clock that morning, Frodo awoke from his slumber. Lucy, so overjoyed, forgot to ask about how and why Frodo was stabbed. No, for the time being, the morbid subject was forgotten to her.

Frodo was also attending the council, but Sam, Merry and Pippin had been left out. "Oh, don't worry," He told them, trying to be comforting. "It'll probably be quite dull, anyway; I say, I won't be able to stay awake for too long!" _Even if it is dull,_ Lucy couldn't help but think, _at least we'd all know what's going on around here._

On the brighter side, Lucy was formally introduced to Bilbo Baggins, who had traveled to Rivendell after disappearing from the Shire weeks ago. He was quite the Hobbit, and had many interesting stories to tell her. He was not attending the council either, but that was a decision he had made himself. Elrond himself had implored the hobbit to come, but Bilbo had refused.

So, around one o' clock that day, Peter and Susan bade their siblings goodbye and disappeared onto the open area where the council was placed. The eleven and ten year old sulked, staring out the window at the lovely scenery. It did nothing for their spirits. "Hey!" It was Merry and Pippin. "You two certainly look dispirited. What say we teach you how to eavesdrop?"  
Lucy and Edmund whirled about. "Are you serious?" Edmund asked. The brother and sister had briefly considered trying to eavesdrop, but then abandoned the idea. Eavesdropping on your fourteen-year-old sister while a boy was flirting with her was one thing; listening in on an important secret council was another matter entirely. "If we were caught eavesdropping, Peter and Susan'll give us a verbal thrashing we'll never forget!" He said.

"Oh, do you always do what you're told?" Pippin asked. Lucy cocked an eyebrow at this.

"According to Peter, Ed doesn't." She said.

"Shut up!" Edmund snapped.

"Make me!"

"I will!"

"Are you coming, or what?" Merry asked. "Sam's already in there, and the council's about to begin!" Lucy and Edmund exchanged brief, tense looks.

"All right," Lucy said.

"Good. Lucy, you circle around the platform. You'll find Sam back there. Edmund, you come with us And for the love of pipeweed, Lucy, _don't get caught!_." Lucy followed Pippin's instructions, and dropped down from a low window onto the soft earth, and crouching to avoid being seen. She pressed up against the side of the platform, and edged around to find Sam.

"Ah, you're here. We've got a pretty good spot- should be able to hear everything." Sam said. Lucy moved to look over the top of the porch, but Sam instantly pulled her back down. "Are you mad? You'll be seen!" He hissed.

"But I can't see!" She whispered back.

"The faces don't matter- it's the voices and what they say. We're looking for information. Not new friends." The gardener said solemnly. On the other side of the area, Merry, Pippin and Edmund were crouched behind two pillars and a large, potted plant. The council was about to begin.

* * *

Meanwhile, Peter and Susan uneasily took seats next to Gandalf and Frodo. Susan was between the wizard and her brother, but Peter was next to an elf named Glorfindel, whom he had only briefly met and conversed with moments before. Everyone sat down and suddenly became quiet. When all was settled, the two teenagers took time to observe the guests.

They all seemed to be arranged by race- men, dwarves, and elves. The humans looked quite normal, except for their clothing. The elves were very fair, and most of them had long, straight hair. The dwarves, naturally, were shorter than the others, and had bushy hair and beards. There was, of course, the wizard and the hobbit, but they were the only of their kind at the meeting (or, at least Gandalf was- Merry, Pippin, Sam, Edmund and Lucy hadn't been discovered so far).

Finally, Lord Elrond stood up, and all slight whispering ceased. All looked to Elrond with unmistakable respect in their eyes, and Peter and Susan knew he must truly be a wise ruler to get immediate respect from all three races (even the dwarves, all of whom seemed a bit dodgy when near an elf). He spoke:

"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old, you've been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor." At this, Susan turned to her brother and mouthed 'Mordor?' Peter shrugged lightly, not even noticing the dull twinge in his shoulder from where he had been stabbed. Elrond noticed this interaction out of the corner of his eye, and realized that neither of the children had any idea what he was talking about. He would have to explain the story.

"Middle Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite, or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom. Ages ago, rings were crafted for the leaders of each race- three for the elves, seven for the dwarves, and nine for men." Glancing over and now seeing the incredibly confused looks on Peter and Susan's faces, he continued.

"These rings gave them the power and will to govern each race. But also, one other ring was created. A master ring, to control all others, was created by Sauron the Deceiver, Lord of Mordor." Peter and Susan noticed several people looking very uncomfortable at the mention of Sauron and Mordor. "The ring was lost when Sauron was defeated towards the end of the Second Age- and now, it has resurfaced. That is why we have all gathered here this day.

"Bring forth the ring, Frodo." Elrond beckoned to Frodo, who also looked noticeably uncomfortable. Peter and Susan were still confused, but less so than before. Who had ever heard of rings being used as weapons? Could the master ring be any worse than the bombs that the Germans had showered on London? If Middle Earth was in this much danger, then it must have been.

As Elrond sat down, Frodo slowly stood up and walked over to a small, stone table in the center of the circle they all sat in. It was small and golden, reminiscent of their mother's wedding ring. But Peter and Susan tried to shy away from thoughts of their parents and their home, lest they start getting teary. Much whispering and murmurs broke out at the sight of the ring.  
"So it is true," One red-headed man whispered. He seemed to be human, and sat near to Strider. Frodo sat back down, looking to Gandalf for support. The wizard gave him an encouraging look. Everyone else's eyes were glued to the ring. Peter and Susan couldn't see why- after all, the ring wasn't jumping out and attacking anyone. Just then, the red-headed man rose from his seat. He looked tense.

"In a dream," He said quietly. "I saw the eastern sky grow dark… but in the west, a pale light lingered." He started moving towards the table. "A voice was crying: 'Your doom is near at hand. Isildur's bane is found.'" He reached for the ring, and Susan tensed. "Isildur's bane…"  
Without warning, Elrond jumped to his feet and yelled "BOROMIR!" Just as Gandalf also rose from his seat and cried,

"_Ash nazg durbatuluk, ash nazg gimbatul. Ash nazg thrakatuluk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!_" He thundered. The area grew dark, seemed to rumble with Gandalf's voice. Susan gasped and clutched Peter's arm; her brother was noticeably tense. The elves all stopped their ears, and Boromir instantly returned to his seat, getting the idea he shouldn't have moved in the first place. Gandalf fell silent, and the sun returned. Peter and Susan both let out a breath.

Those words had instilled a strange sort of terror and foreboding in them that they could not understand. Nearby, Elrond turned to look at Gandalf, and frowned suddenly. Had he just heard a whimpering noise? Perhaps it was Susan, he reasoned. Little did he know, not far off, Sam had a hand slapped over Lucy's mouth. "Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imaldris."

"I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond," Gandalf said gruffly as he returned to his seat. "For the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West! The Ring is all together evil!" He said, glaring at everyone assembled.

"It is a gift," Said the man called Boromir, who had started the outburst. Frankly, Susan wondered if the man knew to stop talking. 'When you find yourself in a hole, stop digging,' Her history teacher had always told them. "A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people, are your lands kept safe! Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy; let us use it against him!"

"You cannot wield it!" Strider interrupted. "The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has not other master." He said. Peter was grateful that Strider had spoken- he seemed a sensible man.

"And what," Boromir said coldly. "Would a Ranger know of this matter?"  
"He is no mere Ranger," Said a blonde elf, suddenly rising from his seat. "He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance." If Peter and Susan had been confused before, they were totally lost now.

"This," Boromir said, sounding very much like he tasted something horrible, "Is Isildur's heir?" Okay, things were just a bit clearer now.

"And heir to the throne of Gondor." The elf added.

"_Havo dad,_ Legolas." Strider, or Aragorn, said uneasily, seeing that things were going in a downward spiral. The elf, Legolas, sat down, and Boromir gave Aragorn a positively frigid look.  
"Gondor has no king," He said stiffly. "Gondor needs no king." He sat down, and refused to acknowledge Aragorn.

"Rather cold," Susan murmured, speaking for the first time she dared.

"Aragorn is right," Gandalf said, bringing them back on track. "We cannot use it. The agents of Sauron are already tracking it down." More murmurs broke out at this statement, and Elrond picked up on it immediately.

"Yes, it is true- the Nazgul have been sighted." Now, he turned to look openly at Peter and Susan. "I believe, Mr. and Miss Pevensie, we come to the reason you have attended this council." All eyes turned to them, and the two teenagers flushed slightly.

"Yes, sir." Peter said quietly.

"I would ask you both to tell the council about how you came upon the Rider in Black- also called a Nazgul." Lord Elrond said. Peter and Susan exchanged looks, and whispered to each other briefly, before Susan started.

"We- Peter, myself, and our brother and sister- were lost in the woods… I think Gandalf called it the Barrow Downs." She glanced at Gandalf, and he nodded in affirmation. "One of us stepped in a beehive, and we were split up for a few minutes. My brother Edmund and I… We…" She stopped here, choking at the frightening memory. The presence of the Nazgul was still very stifling, even as a memory.

"They saw the… Nazgul… First." Peter said quickly.

"Y-Yes," Susan said. All was silent. "At first… I thought it was a traveler. I was going to ask him if he had seen our brother or sister… But it… He… Pulled out a sword." Susan swallowed. Her own words echoed through her head, _'Run!'_ "We ran, and hid under a strangely developed tree… Until the… thing started hacking at the tree roots." Her and Edmund's screams echoed through her head, and she found she couldn't continue.

"I heard them screaming," Peter continued, seeing his sister speechless for the first time in her life. "And saw it cutting at the branches. I threw a rock at it… And it came after me." At this, Susan heard someone vaguely mutter,

"Fool… Attacking a Nazgul with a rock, honestly…" It was a human sitting across from them. She gave him a glare like she had never dealt anyone before and the man grew quiet when he saw it.

"Our sister came out of nowhere and yelled. It distracted me, and I fell. The Nazgul stabbed me."

"What!" Several people exclaimed. Elrond turned to Peter sharply.

"You were stabbed?" He said urgently. Peter blinked and nodded.

"In the shoulder, yes." Elrond turned to Gandalf as the brother and sister exchanged looks.  
"Why was I not told this?" He asked. Gandalf met the Elf-Lord's eyes.  
"It did not seem important." Gandalf said simply.

"Not important! Gandalf, surely you would know how unusual this is!" Aragorn said. Even he, who seemed to be the epitome of calm, cool and collected, sounded worried.

"What's unusual?" Asked Peter, sounding thoroughly irritated. Aragorn turned to him, giving him a somber look.

"Peter, the sword you were stabbed with- was it long, jagged, and rusty?" Peter nodded slowly. "That's a Morgul blade- all the Nazgul use them. They're coated with poison." At this, Susan gave an audible gasp and grabbed her brother's arm. "Haven't you been ill?"

"No… I've been fine." Peter said. "I haven't felt sick at all." More murmuring broke out, and Susan now suspected that she and Peter were finally being noticed as unusual.

"I have a question," Said Legolas slowly, staring intently at Peter. "The Nazgul never just wound their prey. They kill them, indefinitely. If you tried to outrun it, it would have followed you. They do not tire. How did you all manage to escape it?" He asked.

"Our sister stabbed it." Susan said. "Lucy came up behind it after it stabbed Peter."

"Now wait just a minute," A dwarf said. It sounded like it had a Scottish brogue, but Susan seriously doubted there was a Scotland in Middle Earth. "Isn't Lucy that little lass I saw last night? With the red hair?" Peter and Susan nodded.

"That's her."

"But she can't be more than twelve years old!" The dwarf cried.

"She's eight." The siblings said simultaneously.

"Eight!" More disbelieving talk broke out at this.

"You're telling us," Boromir said slowly, "That an eight-year-old girl did what some of the finest warriors in Middle Earth could not? Not only get within fifty feet of a Nazgul without being killed, but managed to stab it herself?"

"Don't ask us to explain it," Susan said, sounding a little annoyed. "It was busy trying to kill Peter, and I doubt it expected a eight year-old to have a dagger." Suddenly, her eyes widened with remembrance, and she whirled to face Lord Elrond. "Lord Elrond! Something happened when Lucy stabbed the Nazgul- she- she screamed like she was being killed, and she looked to be in horrible pain." Elrond's expression, if possible, grew more grave.

"Your sister harmed a powerful creature, Susan," He said, and all fell silent again as he spoke. "Dark magic and mystery surrounds the Ring Wraiths- called Nazgul, in the dark tongue. They were once the nine kings who possessed the nine rings of power gifted to men. Sauron deceived them, and turned them into his slaves, one by one. They now hunt the ring, and won't rest until they find it. Your sister probably hit some sort of defense the wraiths have."

"But why did it attack us, then?" Peter asked. "Susan and Edmund didn't even talk to it. Why would it chase them like that?" Now, Elrond's eyes narrowed.

"In all honesty, I do not know. While the Ring Wraiths do kill, they do so sparingly, so as not to alert anyone significant to their presence. From what you've both said, neither Susan nor Edmund did anything to provoke the Wraith. I can only assume you came too close to it when it was tracking its quarry." Elrond said. Peter and Susan exchanged worried looks before settling back uneasily.

"There is only one choice," Lord Elrond said, addressing the council again. "The Ring must be destroyed." Everyone looked at it, and suddenly, the dwarf that had identified Lucy earlier stood up.

"Then what are we waiting for?" He snarled, picking up his axe. He took two steps forward, raised the axe, and brought it down in a mighty arc onto the ring. Sparks flew, and Susan gave a little shriek as the dwarf flew backwards onto his back. His axe had been smashed to pieces.

"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin, by any craft we here possess," Lord Elrond said. "The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you must do this." He said, looking at all present.

No one moved or spoke.

Peter couldn't help but thinking, _Don't all jump at once, now,(1) _sarcastically.

"One does not simply walk into Mordor," Boromir said in a low voice. "Its Black Gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. The Great Eye is ever watchful." Everyone stared at him, captivated. "It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire, ash and dust. The very air you breathe, is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly."

"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?" Legolas cried, standing up. "The Ring must be destroyed!"

"And I suppose you think you're the one to do it!" Gimli snarled at him.

"And what happens if we fail?" Boromir snapped. "What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?"

_"I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!"_

Chaos erupted upon Gimli's cry. The elves, offended, jumped up and started yelling angrily at the dwarf, held back only by Legolas. The men and other dwarves stood up and started to argue furiously, and Susan and Peter were shocked. Gandalf sighed and shook his head, looking disappointed. Then he tried to restore order, only to become a part of the fray himself.

Susan looked around at the chaos, and suddenly, her eyes landed on Frodo. He was pale, and looked very distressed. He was staring at the Ring and rubbing his forehead. "Frodo?" She said, standing up and going over to him. "Frodo? Are you all right?" Frodo did not respond. She gently shook his arm and spoke to him, but still he said nothing. Peter was hanging back with Aragorn, one of the only people that hadn't joined in the fight. Susan looked to them, and then looked at the Ring. Was that the reason why he looked so worried and upset?  
"Frodo?" She said again. Just then, Frodo turned and met her eyes. There was a hint of something in there she couldn't identify- strength, perhaps?

"I will take it!" He cried. Susan was the first to hear him over the din. "I will take it!" Now, people began to stop, and they all turned, surprised. All fell silent. Frodo looked all of them in the eye. "I will take the Ring to Mordor." He said softly. "Though…" He hesitated, his tone losing some of its potency. "I do not know the way."

"I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins," Said Gandalf, stepping forward from where he had been arguing with Boromir. "As long as it is yours to bear." Aragorn then stood up.

"If by my life or death I can protect you, I will." He walked over to Frodo and stood by him. "You have my sword." Peter went to stand next to Susan, and he nudged her. She turned, and they saw Gandalf and Elrond sharing a knowing look.  
"And you have my bow." Came Legolas' voice.

"And my axe." Gimli followed. Legolas looked thrilled (sarcastically speaking). Now Boromir stepped forward.

"You carry the fate of us all, little one." He looked around. "If this is indeed the rule of the council… Then Gondor will see it done."

"HERE!" Someone cried. And to everyone's surprise, Sam and Lucy came out of their hiding spots and ran up next to Frodo.

"Lucy!" Susan cried. "Were you eavesdropping?" Lucy gave her sister a sheepish smile. Meanwhile, Sam looked at Gandalf and Elrond and crossed his arms.

"Mr. Frodo's not going anywhere without me," he said.

"Or me!" Lucy said.

"No, indeed it is hard to separate you, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not." Lord Elrond said with a raised eyebrow.

"Lucy-" Peter said, clearly intending to shoot down her idea.  
"No! Frodo's my friend, and I want to help him any way I can! Don't try to stop me!" Lucy said, glaring at her older siblings.

"Lucy, this is far too dangerous." Susan said. "And we have to get home! Professor Kirke and Mrs. Macready are probably having a conniption fit by now!" Lucy shook her head and backed up closer to Frodo.

"You don't have to, Lucy. I'm not asking you to." Frodo said.

"You don't have to ask. This is what friends do." Lucy said simply. Susan and Peter turned to Gandalf and Elrond, pleading silently for help. The two men merely shrugged.

"I'm afraid that, on this level, we have no authority." Gandalf said. "Lucy is your sister, and without your parents here, you are responsible for her." Peter and Susan groaned.

"I... I'd like to help too…" Someone said. Everyone turned to see Edmund standing there, staring at the ground.

"Oh, Edmund, not you too…" Susan moaned, putting a hand over her face.

"We're coming too!" And just then, Merry and Pippin ran up, jumping in next to Frodo and Lucy. Edmund and Lucy gave their brother and sister pleading looks. Susan crossed her arms and shrugged.

"Peter?" She asked. He was, after all, the oldest of them. He flinched.

"Oh… All right…" He said. "If you'll permit us to go, Lord Elrond." The Elf-Lord smiled.

"Of course," He said.

"Yes! After all, you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission… Quest… Thing!" Pippin said. Merry cocked an eyebrow and looked at him, and Gandalf rolled his eyes.

"Well, that rules you out, Pip." Merry mumbled. Elrond looked at them all.

"Thirteen companions," He mused out loud as Susan and Peter joined their siblings. "You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring." The Elf-Lord declared.

"Great!" Pippin said. "So… Where are we going?"

* * *

(1): That line is what I think every time I see and hear that part of the council; It's like, they're all thinking, "You crazy? I ain't going!"


	8. The Dinner

That night, Elrond insisted that the newly found Fellowship eat dinner together. Alone in the hall. After the council, many were afraid to be in the same hall with humans, elves, dwarves, a wizard and four hobbits that were being forced to sit with each other. From the way things had gone at the council, all who knew about the dinner sensed that things would be pretty ugly.  
So, at about seven o' clock that night, the thirteen-member Fellowship all sat down and ate. Seriously- that's all they did. No one spoke as they sat, or as they ate. All was tense- and the realization of joining a Fellowship full of strangers was just beginning to settle in with them. They all sat in the following formation:

Edmund - Susan

Lucy - Peter

Frodo - Gandalf

Sam - Merry

Aragorn - Pippin

Legolas - Gimli

- Boromir

Legolas and Gimli looked ready to stick their heads in a bowl of pudding before looking at one another. When they were forced to, however, one would deal the other a positively evil look. Boromir was still acting terribly icy towards Aragorn, and refused to acknowledge the Ranger's presence. The hobbits were nervous, and Gandalf seemed a bit on edge himself.

Peter was feeling extensively stressed, particularly with Edmund and Lucy. How could he look after them, like he had promised his parents, if they were going on a potentially fatal mission to destroy a little, golden ring? So, being so terribly nervous and on edge, Peter began to get just a little irritable. And that slight spark of irritation would prove to be the beginning of a rather entertaining night.

"Edmund, get your elbows off the table." He hadn't even realized- much less cared- that he'd said it. It was a minor observation. Edmund must've been in a good mood, because his reply was as sarcastic as before they came to Middle Earth.

"Yes, Mum." He grumbled. Susan and Lucy both took in a sharp breath. Now, keep in mind, everyone at the table was too polite to stare at the two brothers. They glanced casually out of the corners of their eyes, but they didn't watch outright. But these were the first words spoken that evening, and some- meaning Gandalf and Aragorn- were looking for the opportunity to get some friendly conversation started.

Unfortunately, this wasn't exactly the best conversation-starter.

Susan and Lucy knew a fight was coming on from the instant Edmund opened his mouth. "Peter…" Susan whispered. "Don't…"

"Honestly, Ed," Peter growled, ignoring her completely. "Can't you grow up?"

"Shut up," Edmund hissed. NOW they were attracting stares. Lucy went bright red and covered her face with her hands, sliding down in her seat. Things were about to get ugly.

"Is everything all right, you two?" Susan could have kissed Aragorn for his intervention, if she didn't know it wouldn't help. Peter didn't look at the older man, instead glaring at his younger brother.

"Everything's fine. If Edmund wants to be a brat, I won't stop him." Peter said coldly.

"Why don't you go press some shirts, mum?" Edmund snarled.

"GROW UP!"

**SLAM.**

Everyone jumped, and now all eyes turned to Susan. The usually calm, cool and collected young woman now had a barely veiled expression of pure fury on her lovely features. "The both of you- out." She said in a low, dangerous tone. "NOW!" Peter and Edmund stood up, refusing to meet each other's eyes, and left the hall. Susan followed them, nearly slamming the door behind her as she too left the hall.

Lucy whimpered in embarrassment. "Sorry…" She whispered to them all. "Peter and Edmund… Well… They… Have problems…"

"It's quite all right, Lucy." Boromir said quietly. "One can't expect two brothers to get along all the time." Gandalf chuckled at this.

"Yes… You would know, wouldn't you, Boromir? You and Faramir certainly had some nasty disputes when you were children, eh?" The wizard said. Lucy looked up.

"You have a brother?" She asked curiously. Boromir nodded.

"Yes. My younger brother, Faramir; my polar opposite in almost every way. Bookish, pacifist-"  
"Quiet," Gandalf added softly under his breath. "Well-behaved." Boromir flushed, and Lucy and Pippin giggled.

"But surely you didn't argue with him all the time?" Lucy said. "Lately, all Peter and Edmund do is argue. Edmund's been a bit funny since dad left to fight in the-" Before she could finish her sentence, her three older siblings came in. To everyone's surprise, Peter and Edmund looked both embarrassed and humbled at the same time. Susan looked pleased.

They returned to their seats, and now the others openly stared at them. "Er… Sorry about that." Peter said softly.

"It's all right." Aragorn said. There was a long pause, and everyone went back to what they were doing. Suddenly, Susan spoke.

"Edmund, pass Peter the salt." She said tonelessly.

"That's all right, I don't need any-" Peter began. But he caught sight of the look on Susan's face, and he froze. "…On second thought… I have a sudden craving…" Shakily, he accepted the salt from Edmund and scooted his seat a little farther away from Susan's. There was suddenly a small noise. A choked sort of noise, like someone had gotten caught on something while swallowing.

It was Pippin. He had a fist over his mouth, and was looking away so no one could see him sniggering. Peter and Edmund gave the hobbit venomous looks. "What, if I may ask, is so funny, Pippin?" Edmund gritted out through clenched teeth.

"Y-You two," The hobbit giggled. "I haven't seen anyone so terrified since Lobelia Sackville-Baggins came to visit Hobbiton!" There was a collective groan from Frodo, Sam and Merry.

"The night was getting so pleasant, Pip," Merry grumbled. "Why'd you have to bring old Lobelia up?"

"Honest!" Pippin choked. "Frodo! Do you recall, after Bilbo left, she came to your house?"  
"I'm still trying to forget that little incident." Frodo mumbled.

"We're not terrified!" Peter snapped.

"Yes, you are!"

"No, we're not!"

"Yes- You- Are!" Just then, Pippin began to pound his fist on the table as he laughed. But, on total accident, his fist hit his spoon, which happened to be buried in a clump of mashed potatoes. It had a catapult effect, and sprung up to hurl a lump of mashed potatoes into Merry's cheek. The other hobbit yelped and turned to glare at his cousin, who was now laughing even harder than before.

"YOU-!" And then, Merry did only what comes naturally to one whom has just been assaulted with mashed potatoes- he grabbed a handful of peas and smashed them into Pippin's hair and face.

"OF ALL THE TROUBLE-MAKING-" Gandalf roared, jumping to his feet.

Bad idea.

Pippin had retaliated as well- only, it missed Merry and hit Gandalf, who fell back in surprise and knocked into Peter, who smashed his elbow into his plate of food. He slid into Susan, who consequently fell to the floor.

"Hey!" Peter snapped, giving Pippin an angry glare. But, just then, a handful of… something… hit the side of his head. Growling, he looked up to see both Edmund and Lucy with pseudo-innocent looks on their faces. Getting into the swing of things, Merry chucked a handful of food at Lucy, who shrieked in delight and retaliated. Her retaliation hit Legolas in the side of the face; in turn, his elbow slammed down onto a spoon that was filled with soup. Like Pippin's opening blow earlier, the spoon had the same catapult effect- splashing a load of soup into Gimli's face.

Do I need to say that a full-fledged food-fight broke out?

* * *

About an hour later, the Fellowship was lined up before Lord Elrond, Glorfindel (A Balrog-slayer/advisor), and Erestor (One of Elrond's advisors). Elrond and Erestor were shaking their heads disapprovingly, and Glorfindel was just snickering helplessly under his breath. "You are all quite aware," Elrond said, rubbing his temples, "That when I asked you to bond, I did not intend for you to go to this particular… extreme measure…"

For indeed, everyone was a mess. Splattered with food and seeming very fatigued, the thirteen members of the Fellowship had gotten deeply into the food fight before Lord Elrond came in to see what all of the various crashing and screaming noises were about. Needless to say, he was not too pleased with the sight that greeted him. "We apologize, Master Elrond. For our immaturity." Gandalf said, ashamed. For he, too, had flung a potato or two at Merry and Pippin. After all, when would he find an opportunity like THAT again?

"Pippin started it," Boromir grumbled, pulling a clump of pudding out of his hair.

"And be mad at him," Elrond said tersely. "Because you will all be _bonding_ further as you clean up this mess." Everyone turned and gave Pippin a positively evil look. He grinned sheepishly.

"Er… I'll go get started, then." He said, quickly ducking into the other room. As the others trudged in, Elrond pulled Gandalf aside and whispered,

"The most dignified, responsible, well-behaved children you've ever seen. I believe those were your exact words, Gandalf?" Gandalf grunted.

"First of all," He said. "You do not know the children I've seen in the past. These four are _Gods_ compared to some. Second of all, everyone must have their moments of spontaneity, don't they?" Just then, they saw Peter shove his brother face-first into a puddle of pudding dripping from the wall. They exchanged brief looks.

"And third… I can be wrong, can't I?"


	9. A Murder of Crows

The next morning, the Fellowship was ready to set off. Or, at least as ready as they would ever be. The Pevensies had some new clothing, and they seemed to fit into Middle Earth better. But the had to get up at the crack of dawn, which left Susan trying to tug her two younger siblings and her very stubborn older brother out of bed. Easier said than done, mind you.

"Peter! Get up! Lucy and Edmund are already up and dressed, and we're leaving in thirty minutes! GET UP!" Susan shouted. But Peter just rolled over and pulled his pillow over his head.

"I'll get him, Su." It was Edmund. He had something behind his back. Susan eyed him suspiciously, and backed up to the door while Edmund moved towards Peter's bed. Her new position allowed Susan to see that Edmund had an ivory horn behind his back; she instantly recognized it as Boromir's, and tensed. Edmund put the horn to his lips, paused, then-

_**HNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!**_

Peter screamed and fell off the bed, saying a few words that, in a safer situation, would have made Susan slap him. Unfortunately, Peter seemed a bit too homicidal to approach at the moment. "**_EEEEEEDDDDMUUUUUUUUUUND_**!" Peter's roar echoed through Rivendell. Outside, Legolas and Lucy looked up.

"That'll be Peter," She said cheerily, turning to Boromir. "You might find yourself regretting letting Edmund use your horn, Boromir." Boromir shrugged and grinned.

"It's how I woke Faramir. I tried it on our father once, but he was less amused…" Lucy giggled, and Legolas turned away to roll his eyes. Just then, Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin came out, looking a little flustered.  
"We were almost trampled by your brothers, Lucy," Frodo said. "I think Peter was angry at Edmund for something…" Lucy smiled.

"Boromir let Edmund use his horn to wake up Peter." She said brightly. "And sometime within the next few minutes, Susan will hit them both in the head and force them out here. Listen." There was a pause. Then, a moment later, identical "Ow!" remarks could be heard, and Susan's voice could be heard scolding her two brothers. "Yup," Lucy said. "Like clockwork."

Minutes later, a disgruntled looking Peter walked up to them. "Morning," He mumbled. Then, Edmund came up. From the bruises, cuts and welts that covered the exposed parts of his body, they could tell Peter got his kicks in before Susan had intervened. With a grin, he handed Boromir his horn (undamaged, surprisingly enough) and sat next to Lucy. Then, Susan came out, looking surprisingly unruffled, despite her brothers' appearance.

"Good morning," She said sweetly. She carried a small sword, a bow, and a case full of arrows. Legolas was going to teach her how to shoot as they traveled. Peter and Edmund carried swords, but decided not to take a course on shooting. They would be learning to fight from Aragorn and Boromir. Lucy had her dagger, and while she wasn't going to be formally taught with a sword, Aragorn would give her some pointers on how to use it properly.

People were gathering. Aragorn, Gimli and Gandalf joined the group. It was time to leave. When all had assembled, Lord Elrond spoke. "The Ring-bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom," The Elf-Lord said. "On you who travel with him, no oath, no bond is laid to go further than you will." In all honesty, Lucy and Edmund had no idea what he was saying. And even more so, neither did Peter and Susan.

"Farewell. Hold to your purpose. May the blessing of Elves and Men, and all Free Folk go with you." The Fellowship bowed to him, and then straightened.

"The fellowship awaits the Ring-bearer." Gandalf said. He had donned his ever-so-spiffy light blue/grayish pointed hat, and carried his staff in one hand. He gestured to the gates, and Frodo stepped forward. He looked very uneasy. He stepped out the gate, followed by Gandalf, Gimli, Boromir, Pippin, Merry, Legolas, Peter, Susan, Edmund, Lucy, Sam and Aragorn. But Aragorn lingered for a moment. When Lucy saw he wasn't following, she turned to look. He was staring at a young looking elf-woman, whom Lucy knew as Arwen Undomiel- Lord Elrond's daughter.

Aragorn stared at her for a long time, before finally turning around and going after the others. He gave Lucy a small smile when he saw she had been waiting for him. They, too, passed through the gates after their fellows. The Fellowship had begun their journey.

* * *

Over the next three weeks, things went rather smoothly. Unless you count that fact that Legolas and Gimli took verbal stabs at each other at every turn, and Peter and Edmund were still rather sore to each other. Lucy began to wonder if her brothers would, or even could, ever stop being angry with each other. Lessons for the three older Pevensies began two days after they had left Rivendell.

"Have you ever used a bow and arrow, Susan?" Legolas asked.

"Once, during school." Susan said. "We had a brief course in archery… but we had to stop when people started aiming at each other." Legolas blinked.

"I… see. Well, in any case, at least you've had some experience." He instructed her on how to hold the bow and arrow, and where to hold them to get the best results. "Always try to keep the arrow in the same place," Legolas said. "And adjust your tilt on the bow to aim for a high or low place." The elf paused, looking for a good target for her to aim at. "Try aiming for… That tree." He said, pointing to a thin pine.

He stood behind her as Susan raised the bow, aimed the arrow, and released. Her grip on the string and arrow, she quickly realized, must not have been sufficiently tight enough. The arrow wobbled and slid backward, falling to the ground. Susan winced, and Legolas smiled patiently. "Not to worry- just tighten your grip a little."

They both turned when they heard Edmund, Merry and Pippin sniggering. Susan's eyes narrowed. A second later, the three yelped loudly as an arrow buried itself in the tree above their heads. Susan giggled, and Legolas grinned. "Yes," He said. "Just like that."

Peter and Edmund's lessons went likewise- Boromir or Aragorn would practice with them for a half an hour, and then switch to Merry and Pippin, who were also learning swordplay. Susan definitely got her turn to laugh at her brother and the two mischievous hobbits when they stumbled or dropped their sword while sparring. Everyone got the opportunity a few days later, when Boromir was sparring with the hobbits.

"One- two- three-" He said, going through the steps and swinging carefully at the hobbits. "Good. Faster, now. One- two- three." On the last blow, Boromir accidentally hit Merry's hand with the blade. The hobbit yelped and dropped his blade, shaking his hand. "Sorry, Merry-" But just then, the Hobbit had delivered a swift kick to Boromir's shin. "Ow!" This, of course, erupted into a small, mock fight between Merry, pippin and Edmund (Who couldn't sit back just watch a fight like this).

After everyone had had a good laugh, Aragorn and Peter went over to try and pull everyone off Boromir. "That's enough, gentlemen." Aragorn chuckled. Edmund and Merry exchanged conspiratorial looks. Then, without warning, hobbit and boy seized a leg on either mediators, and pulled. Aragorn and Peter went crashing to the ground, both with a loud 'hoof'!

Lucy, Frodo and Sam laughed nearby, having front-row seats to the wrestling match. Sam looked up, still chuckling, and suddenly, his expression sobered with curiosity. "What is that?" He asked, nodding his head toward something. Lucy and Frodo looked up, along with the others.

"What's what?" Lucy asked. Sam pointed out at the sky, and Lucy squinted. She managed to make out a black cloud of… birds, maybe?

"Nothing, it's simply a wisp of cloud." Gimli said, waving his hand dismissively.

"It's moving fast… and against the wind." Boromir said skeptically. Susan stepped up next to her sister, also squinting.

"Are those… Crows?" She asked. Nearby, Gandalf went tense.

"Crows?" He said sharply.

"Crebain, from Dunland!" Legolas yelled, sounding worried. Susan turned, as though to ask him what Crebain were, but she was cut off.

"HIDE!" Aragorn barked. "HURRY!"

"TAKE COVER!" Boromir added. Immediately, there was a flurry of motion around the camp. Sam went about putting out the fire, and Peter ran to help Aragorn and Boromir hide their weapons and bags. Peter hid with the two men under an outcropping of rocks- Edmund crouched behind a rock with Gimli. Lucy slid under a scraggly bush with Legolas, and Susan ducked into a small hole between two rocks with Merry and Pippin.

The crows- or Crebain, apparently- swept low over the camp, some brushed the ground, others, the tops of the rocks and bushes. Everyone was totally silent, not even daring to breathe. To the Pevensies, the crows were obviously a threat. But how? _Then again,_ Edmund thought as he crouched lower, _If an inanimate object can be a weapon of mass destruction, Lord knows what a crow in this world could do…_

Finally, the crows flew away. Lucy let out a breath and scrambled out from under the bush. Gandalf rose, staring grimly after the birds. "Spies of Saruman," He said gravely. "The passage south is being watched. We will make for the Pass of Caradhras." He turned and nodded. Everyone looked up.

"Oh… My word." Susan whispered. For the Pass of Caradhras was a gigantic mountain of snow.

* * *

Four days later, the Fellowship was trekking through the snows of Caradhras. The first two days were all right, though sleeping was a little hard. On the afternoon of their second day, as they struggled through going up a fairly steep hill, Frodo fell and tumbled backwards down the hill. "Frodo!" Lucy yelped. She turned sharply, and then slipped herself, tumbling down the hill after him.

Aragorn immediately- and carefully- shuffled through the snow to them, pulling the child and the hobbit up and dusting them off. "Are you all right?" He asked.

"I am," Lucy said. "Frodo?" Frodo nodded, and brought his hand to his chest reflexively to look for the ring. A stricken look crossed his face, and he froze. "Frodo, what is it?"

"The Ring," Frodo whispered, looking mortified. "The Ring, it's-" Suddenly, the three looked up. The company had stopped, and was waiting for them. But not far off was Boromir, crouched in the snow… With the One Ring in his hand, dangling as he held it from its chain. Lucy smiled.

"See? You didn't lose it, Boromir has it!" Lucy- with maybe the exception of Pippin, who was naturally oblivious at times- was probably the only member of the Fellowship seemingly unaware of the tension involving Boromir and the Ring. She had been paying attention at the meeting, but her innocence and trust- which was a side-effect of being a child- kept her unaware of possible problems that could arise.

So, naturally, neither Aragorn nor Frodo was comforted by her observation. But Lucy began to stumble up the slope, the man and the hobbit following suit. "Boromir," Lucy called. But the man did not respond. He was staring intently at the Ring, studying it. Up the hill, just behind Gandalf, Susan turned to the wizard, apprehensive.

"Gandalf… What's going on?" She whispered. "Should we-"  
"Do nothing." Gandalf hadn't even looked at her. His piercing eyes were fixed on the scene below. "Do nothing. Aragorn will handle it." Back below, Lucy, Frodo and Aragorn stopped short a few feet before Boromir.

"It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt… Over so small a thing." His gaze was hazy. Lucy's brow furrowed in confusion. Surely, Boromir would give the Ring back to Frodo at any minute. He knew the Ring was dangerous. He wouldn't hold it for too long… Would he? "So small a thing…" Boromir's other hand reached up to touch the Ring-

"_Boromir_!" Aragorn's tone was sharp, cutting through the silence and tension that surrounded them. Much like the scene at the Council, Boromir snapped out of it. "Give the Ring to Frodo." Boromir seemed to really notice Aragorn, Frodo and Lucy for the first time. For a moment, his eyes fixed on Aragorn's. Then, they flipped to Frodo's. Then, finally, to Lucy, who looked vaguely confused at the urgency in Aragorn's order.

Boromir moved forward and held out the Ring. "As you wish." He said, a bit of laughter suddenly coming into his voice. Frodo snatched the Ring back, his breathing somewhat heavy. The corner of Boromir's lip turned up in a slight smirk. "I care not." He reached out and ruffled Frodo's hair, knocking out a bit of snow that'd been caught in it when he fell. Then, the Gondorian turned and went back up the hill after the rest of the Fellowship.

As Frodo put the chain around his neck again, Lucy happened to glance back for a brief second at Aragorn, and froze. He had his hand on the hilt of his sword, as though he were prepared to draw it. Lucy's eyes widened, and the Ranger suddenly saw her looking. When she shot him an inquisitive- and rather worried- glance, all he could do was let go of the sword and pat her shoulder, before gently nudging her and Frodo after the others.


	10. Caradhras

The next few days on Caradhras were complete and utter misery.

Gandalf walked ahead of them at all times, plowing a way ahead with his staff. One night- though, they really guessed at the time of day- they rested during a fierce snowstorm. Gandalf couldn't light a fire because the wind was blowing so hard, and everyone was freezing. Because Edmund refused to get anywhere near Peter (Yeah- they're still fighting), he ended up huddling between Susan and Lucy, with the Hobbits with them.

Peter was helping Boromir, Aragorn and Legolas plow through the snow, trying to create a path, or maybe the more appropriate word would be 'tunnel', up the mountain. Aragorn gave the teenager a pair of gloves so he wouldn't get frostbite as he scratched away at the snow. About thirty minutes into this rather unpleasant activity, Peter was ready to collapse. He turned to look at his companions up ahead and next to him.

Tired as he was, Peter wasn't willing to give up until they did. Well, at least until Boromir and Aragorn did. After all, Legolas was an elf; since he couldn't feel the cold as badly as the humans, dwarf and hobbits could, chances were that Legolas could be at this for hours before tiring. Peter respected Aragorn and Boromir- respected their strength, their determination, their perseverance… He didn't want to look weak in front of them.

So, Peter kept knocking away at the snow. He must have been more tired than he thought, because suddenly, he felt Aragorn shaking his shoulder. "Peter!" The Ranger called over the howling wind. Peter snapped up, and realized that he had been falling asleep. For the past few minutes, he had been whacking numbly at the snow, with no effect to the tunnel. "Go back and get some rest!" Peter shook his head, forcing himself awake.

"I'm fine!" he called back.

"You're falling asleep on your feet. Go back to your brother and sisters!" Aragorn insisted, giving the fifteen-year-old a little nudge towards their snowy camp. Peter sighed in defeat, and tromped back through the knee-high snow to the rest of the Fellowship. There, he slumped down next to Susan, crossing his arms tightly to keep himself warm. Soon after, he nodded off.

The next two nights were no better. The third night, they were hiking up a winding trail, next to a high wall of rock. Peter had an arm around Lucy, and Susan had an arm around Edmund against the wind. Boromir was carrying Merry and Pippin, while Aragorn carried Frodo and Sam. Because of their smaller statures, the Hobbits could barely stand in the gale-force wind without being blown over. Gimli brought up the rear with Bill the Pony, and Legolas walked beside the group, on top of the snow.

Gandalf, as was said before, led them, plowing ahead with his staff, snow caught in his beard. Legolas strode by the wizard, to a turn in the path, and stared out intently. The company stopped. "There is a fell voice on the air!" Legolas called to them. Everyone listened. Then, on the wind, they could all detect a deep, harsh voice, bellowing something unintelligible.

"_It's Saruman!_" Gandalf roared.

"He's trying to bring down the mountain!" Aragorn cried.

"Saruman?" Edmund yelled, uncomprehending.

"A wizard of Gandalf's order; He's betrayed our side!" Legolas called to him. Gandalf, meanwhile, had raised his staff high, and was bellowing in- what the Pevensies thought- complete gibberish.  
"What is he doing?" Susan asked.

"Trying to counteract Saruman's spell," Aragorn said. "Saruman must be the one who's conjuring the storm!" A second later, there was a loud 'BOOM'. Lucy screamed; the sound was all too reminiscent of the sound of bombs dropping and exploding. Nearby, Susan screamed. It was an avalanche! A bolt of lightning- Saruman's work, undoubtedly- had stricken the area above them, causing a wave of snow to come crashing down on the Fellowship.

There was a pause.

Legolas was the first to break through the snow, shaking his head, trying to rid his face and hair of the snow. Gimli, Aragorn, Gandalf and the others soon followed. "Well," Peter muttered. "_That_ definitely woke me up."

"We must get off Caradhras!" Boromir cried to Gandalf. "Make for the Gap of Rohan and press forward to Minas Tirith!"

"The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!" Aragorn protested loudly. "We could walk right into Saruman and his henchmen! Not to mention the land would be swarming with Orcs!"

"Is there any other way?" Edmund called to Gandalf.

"There is!" They all turned awkwardly to face Gimli. "If we cannot go _over_ the mountain, let us go _under_ it! The Mines of Moria!" Everyone turned to Gandalf for council. Peter, who was closest to the wizard at the time, saw that his eyes and expression were dark. What was so bad about the Mines of Moria? Then again, they were in a world where a little, golden ring was a weapon of terrible power- with that in mind, Moria could be a nightmare.

When Gandalf failed to respond, Boromir spoke up with a new point. "We cannot stay here! This will be the death of the little ones!" He was, of course, referring to Lucy, Edmund and the Hobbits. While Edmund put on a stoic front, he was shaking from the cold. Lucy, Merry, Sam and Pippin were no better. Frodo seemed to be doing better than them all, for some reason.

"Let the Ring-bearer decide." Was Gandalf's verdict. Lucy, though her teeth chattered, couldn't help but think that it was rather unfair of Gandalf to heap that responsibility on Frodo. The poor hobbit was already notably stressed under the pressure of his position as the Ring-bearer, and didn't need this extra worry on his mind. "Frodo?"

Frodo quietly observed each member of the Fellowship, Gandalf in particular, before saying: "We'll go through the Mines."

* * *

They soon found that going down the mountain was far easier than going up. It took them two days to reach a non-snowy surface- half the time it had taken them all to get up Caradhras in the first place. On the morning of the second day, the sun shined brightly, warming them all, and making the cold far less miserable.

Everyone's moods were lifted significantly; even Edmund's. And what do ten-year-old boys do when they're in a good mood?

Why, cause trouble, of course!

Edmund was walking towards the back of the group, with Gimli, Pippin and Boromir. Suddenly, his happy little mind came up with an idea. Peter was in his direct line of vision- no one in the way, no straying to the side… Just straight ahead. In his mind, Edmund pictured a small bulls-eye on the back of his older brother's head. Could he? Certainly. _Should_ he? Well… Edmund doubted that the other members of the Fellowship would let Peter mutilate him, but still…

_Ah, what the hell_. Edmund thought. Quietly, he fell a little further back, stooped down, and picked up a handful of snow, patting it in his hands. At that moment, Boromir noticed that the second-youngest member of the Fellowship had fallen behind. He turned, shifting his shield, and froze when he saw Edmund with the snow.

Edmund, in turn, froze when he saw the man look at him. Bus-teeeed… A pleading look in his eyes, Edmund used his free hand to make a slashing motion across his throat. Boromir blinked, and then turned to look back at the company. He saw the back of Peter's head, and- being a brother himself- understood Edmund's intentions immediately. The Gondorian winked, and turned his back to the dark haired boy, feigning ignorance.

Edmund grinned- Boromir was _definitely_ someone he would look forward to knowing better. Carefully, he ran forward, lined up the shot, and hurled the snowball at the back of his elder sibling's head. _SPLAT_. "AUGH!" Peter cried out, attracting everyone's attention. Boromir bowed his head and snickered softly to himself.

Whirling around, Peter glared immediately at his antagonizer; it didn't take a genius to guess who it was. "ED!" He barked. Edmund grinned impishly.

"That was for the window!" He called triumphantly. Peter look confused for a moment, wondering that the _hell_ Edmund was talking about, before he remembered.

"EDMUND!" He roared. "YOU IDIOT! YOU'RE THE ONE THAT HIT THE DAMN BALL!"

"YOU BOWLED IT!" Edmund yelled back.

Now, surely you realize that Edmund was referring to the broken window that had landed the four Pevensies into Middle Earth, and into the Fellowship. But you also must understand that the rest of the Fellowship, excluding Susan and Lucy for obvious reasons, didn't have a clue as to what the two brothers were talking about.

But, as with most arguments between the Pevensie boys, the fight escalated quickly. Of course, Peter had to pick up a lump of snow and hurl it back at Edmund, who dodged with irritating ease. "Peter!" Susan said angrily. "Do you _always _have to move these arguments along? I _swear_-"

"WE'RE ON ED'S SIDE!" Merry and Pippin screamed simultaneously, running up the hill to Edmund. Susan groaned and slapped a hand to her forehead.  
"Traitors," Peter huffed. Aragorn chuckled and stepped forward.

"Seriously, gentlemen, we are on a schedule. Now-" Without warning, a snowball to the face cut off the Ranger. Sam, Frodo, Lucy and Susan gasped. Legolas, Gimli and even Gandalf's respective jaws dropped. Boromir was grinning mischievously, and wiping snow off his gloves. No one was quite certain how Aragorn might react to being nailed in the face with a wad of compressed snow.

Slowly, Aragorn wiped the snow from his face, looking surprisingly calm. "I…" Everyone drew in a tense breath. "… Am on Peter's side." Is it necessary for me to say that a snowball fight broke out? Yes, a distinguished bunch of warriors, a wizard, four hobbits and four children had a vicious snowball fight. Susan had intended to remain neutral, but she was quickly heard screaming for Pippin's blood when he got her in the chest with a particularly large ball.

The sides were as follows- On Edmund's side, there was (of course) Edmund, then Lucy, Merry, Pippin, Boromir and Gimli. On Peter's side was (of course) Peter, then Susan, Aragorn, Gandalf, Frodo, Sam, and Legolas. Peter was mainly aiming for Edmund. Susan was mainly aiming for Pippin. Aragorn was mainly aiming for Boromir. Legolas, naturally aimed for Gimli, and the remaining three aimed for everyone.

The snowball fight went on for about two hours. Peter's side had a significant advantage- partly because they had an extra person, partly because they had an elf and a wizard. The fight ended when Edmund simply gave up and tackled Peter into the snow. Eventually, Peter got the upper hand, and shoved his little brother's face in the snow. As Aragorn and Boromir tore them apart, Pippin approached Susan. "Aye," The hobbit said. "You've got a good arm, Susan. You hit me in the forehead." He rubbed aforementioned body part, flinching. "We even?"

Susan paused for a moment, considering this. Then, she pulled another snowball from behind her back, and smashed it over the youngest hobbit's head. Then she smiled. "Yes, Pippin. We're even."

* * *

Sorry I didn't go into detail about the snowball fight, but I couldn't think of a good filler.


	11. The Watcher and the Mines

Before you even _ask_. No, this will not be a Susan/Legolas romance. Susan is not going to be romantically involved with any member of the Fellowship.

* * *

In two days time, the Fellowship found themselves in a deep valley of rock, hiking through a difficult and narrow trail, at night. Frodo and Gandalf were up front, while Lucy chatted merrily with Sam, Pippin and Merry. Peter brought up the rear, guiding Bill the Pony with Aragorn. Edmund was on auto-pilot, navigating about the rocks and drops with ease. Susan was talking with Gimli.

"So, what _are_ the Mines of Moria?" She asked the dwarf. Gimli chuckled.

"A Dwarf nation, lass! My cousin, Balin, rules it!" He explained. Susan nodded.

"I think you mentioned it back in Eregion," Susan said, "I recall, just before the crows came." Gimli nodded.

"Yes. I suspected that Moria may have been a quicker route to take. After all, which seems faster- going under a mountain, with nothing but rocks and dwarves in your way, or on a mountain, with snow and wolves lurking about?" From behind them there was a loud snort. Gimli let out a low growl and whirled around. There, he and Susan saw Legolas, looking fixedly on a point beyond them. "Was that you, elf?" Legolas blinked innocently, meeting Gimli's angry gaze.

"Me? Surely you would never expect me to act so undignified, Master Dwarf." The elf replied smoothly, with a small smirk. Gimli grumbled low under his breath and trudged on. As Legolas walked past Susan, he leaned over and whispered, "At least, not to his face." Susan broke into a fit of giggles and had to duck aside for a moment to calm down.

"Ach! There they are!" Gimli cried suddenly. Everyone looked up- Edmund, just in time to watch as he crashed into Susan and nearly knock them both over. "These are where the doors to Moria are located!" Lucy ran up, looking around. She expected to see very large doors, from the way Gimli had described Moria to them (And since he had been blathering on about Moria for nearly a week, they were expecting something bloody grand).

"Where are they?" Lucy asked as they walked around the gigantic lake in the middle of the valley. Gimli, who was tapping the rocky walls, glanced back at her.

"Dwarf doors are invisible when closed." He explained, giving part of the wall a little tap with his axe.

"Yes, Gimli." Gandalf said, "Some are so well hidden and protected, their own creators cannot find them, if their secrets are lost."

"Why doesn't _that_ surprise me?" Legolas muttered wryly. Gimli gave the blonde a positively evil look, and Lucy and Susan giggled softly to themselves. Finally, the company reached a larger plot of rock and dirt, where they stopped. Dead, twisted trees curled out like warped hands, as though beckoning them to the water. Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy observed them with awe.

Having grown up in London, trees were not among the things they saw in day to day life, unless they went to the park. They had taken rare trips to the countryside with their parents, but still had never seen trees as strange looking as these ones. Then again, they were seeing a lot of strange and warped things on this little outing…

"Let's see…" Gandalf murmured, approaching the wall and examining it carefully. Peter came up behind him, and saw that there were vague runes carved into the ancient stone. "Ithildin… It reflects only starlight and moonlight." The wizard glanced back momentarily, as a cloud rolled away, revealing a full moon. The light seemed to flow down as easily as water, illuminating the area far better.

The runes suddenly began to glow, creating an upside-down "U" shape- a door, with runes carved into it. Gandalf smiled in satisfaction- the first time he had smiled in days, actually. "It reads," He said, tapping his staff on the runes at the top of the door, ""The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter.'"

"What do you suppose that means?" Merry asked, observing the glowing door with awe.

"It's quite simple, really. If you are a friend, you speak the password and the doors will open." Gandalf explained, pressing the head of his staff against a star-like rune on the door. He bellowed something in the same language he had on Caradhras. Everyone tensed, expecting something strange to happen. Silence. Nothing happened.

Gandalf seemed taken slightly aback by this. He and Frodo shared a glance, before the wizard put both hands on the door, and belted out something else they couldn't understand.

"Nothing's happening." Pippin said bluntly.  
"No kidding." Edmund muttered. Gandalf shot the two a warning glance, and they both fell silent. The wizard pushed up against the door a little.

"Are they stuck?" Susan asked. Gandalf shook his head, and gave a little grunt of frustration.

"I once knew every spell in all the tongues of Elves, Men and Orcs." He whispered. "I can hardly go through them all…"

"What are you going to do, then?" Pippin asked loudly.

"Knock your head against these doors, PeregrinTook! And if that does not _shatter_ them, then I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions!" Gandalf snapped, whirling to glare at the young hobbit.

"Use Peter's head. His skull's thicker." Edmund suggested. Peter punched him, hard, in the arm. "Ow!" Edmund whined.

"You started it!" Susan didn't even bother to talk this time. She grabbed Peter's arm, and Lucy grabbed Edmund's. Their sisters dragged the quarreling boys apart, so Gandalf wouldn't summon some sort of thunderbolt to electrocute them both.

* * *

About an hour later, the twelve other members of the Fellowship were laying around, as their thirteenth member attempted to open the door with every combination of Elvish, Westron, Dwarvish, and Orkish words he could come up with. They had to let Bill the Pony go, after unloading all their belongings from his back.

"The mines are no place for a pony," Aragorn said and he, Sam and Peter unpacked the things from the pony's back. "Even one so brave as Bill."

"If we ever get _into_ the mines, you mean." Edmund mumbled wryly from nearby, as Aragorn gently nudged Bill onto the path leading out of the valley.

"Shush," Susan whispered, swatting his shoulder gently. "Gandalf knows what he's doing."

"Of course he does."

"_Edmund_."

"Sheesh, sorry, Mum."

"Oh, don't start that again…" Lucy moaned, vividly remembering the last time Edmund had scathingly referred to Susan as "mum". It had ended like most of these situations did; Peter told Edmund to grow up, Edmund stormed out, tension reigned supreme, and another notch was knocked onto Susan's "Stress Meter". Honestly, Lucy was expecting Susan to crack any day now…

Merry and Pippin had discovered a new way to pass the time- attempting to skip rocks on the surface of the lake. Edmund, glowering, joined them. After a moment, the eleven-year-old calmed down a little. It felt good to have a little noise in an otherwise silent place (if you excluded Gandalf's voice). After Edmund had thrown about three rocks, he felt someone grab his arm. Turning, he saw Aragorn.

"Do not disturb the water," The Ranger whispered. Edmund, Merry and Pippin blinked, before looking out into the water curiously. Was there something out there that Aragorn, but not they, could see?

"Why?" Edmund asked. But Aragorn merely shook his head and walked over to their packs. Again, with nothing to do, Merry and Pippin sat down back to back, Edmund settling down next to Lucy again. For a moment, there was silence. Gandalf then threw down his staff, frustrated, and sat down next to Frodo. Then-

"Merry," Pippin whispered. "I'm hungry."

"You're _always_ hungry, Pip."

"Am not!"  
"Are too!"

"I'm afraid I have to side with Merry on this one, Pippin." Boromir chipped in, cutting off the whispered argument. "You are constantly complaining of being hungry."

"I am not!" Pippin huffed. The Gondorian cocked an eyebrow at this.

"Very well then," He said smoothly, turning to the rest of their company. "By a show of hands, who thinks Pippin is 'always hungry'?" Everyone, spare Frodo and Gandalf, who weren't in tune with the conversation, raised their hands.

"'S bloody annoying, lad." Gimli grumbled from nearby, puffing on his pipe. Pippin sniffed.

"Gang up on me, why don't you?" He grumbled.

"Welcome to my world." Edmund growled back. Peter glared at him.  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Just then, there was a deep rumbling noise, and the ground quaked slightly. Everyone turned to see the Doors of Durin opening. Immediately, they all gathered their things and jumped up to join Frodo and Gandalf. The wizard placed a translucent crystal in the gnarled head of his staff, and it glowed slightly.

"Soon, my friends, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the Dwarves," Gimli said. "Roaring fires, malt beer-" He paused at the dangerous look Susan gave him (Edmund was grinning at the 'malt beer' statement), and he quickly rephrased. "-For the adults… This, my friends, is the home of my cousin Balin. And they call it a mine. A mine!" Gimli laughed.

Susan smiled, and reached over to the nearest wall, to get a sense of where it was. She felt something cold and brittle beneath her hand, but it was too dark to see what it was. Just then, the light from Gandalf's staff grew brighter. Boromir spoke, sounding horrified.

"This is no mine," He whispered. "It's a tomb." Susan, who had diverted her attention to the man when he spoke, turned back to the object under her hand- and screamed. _It was a skeleton!_ Susan had placed her hand on the brittle hand bones of a skeleton, somehow stuck to the wall. Everyone, in horror, now realized that the entrance hall was filled with skeletons.

From the arrows and severed bones that lay about, it didn't take a genius to realize a battle had taken place. "No…" Gimli gasped, running around and staring in horror at the grisly scene. "NO!" Peter immediately threw an arm around a shaking Lucy, while Aragorn attempted to console Susan, who was still screaming. Nearby, Legolas tore an arrow out of a dwarf skeleton. After a moment of examination, he dropped it like it was a cobra.

"Goblins!" He hissed. Aragorn and Boromir drew their swords. Peter and Edmund took this as a cue, also unsheathing theirs. Legolas and Susan (who was calmer now) nocked arrows and looked around.

"We make for the Gap of Rohan," Boromir said darkly. "We should never have come here!" Lucy moved back so that she was standing with the four hobbits, who were all pressed in together. She felt Frodo stumble a little, and she grabbed his arm.  
"Frodo?" She questioned shakily. Without warning, Frodo jerked away- Though Lucy soon realized it was not of his own accord. Something was coming out of the lake, and it had Frodo around the ankle! "FRODO!" She shrieked as he was dragged towards the lake.

"STRIDER!" Sam cried. Lucy barely had time to register what- or who- Sam was talking to. She had managed to get a grip on Frodo's hand, and was trying to pull him back. Merry threw his arms around her waist, and Pippin mirrored him. Together, they attempted to haul Frodo back. Sam came running out, his small sword held high, and hacked at the thing.

"Get off him!" He cried. The thing relinquished its hold on Frodo, and drew back to the water. Lucy sighed with relief. But it was short lived, for a second later, about twenty more of those things- which she now realized were tentacles- came shooting out of the water, smacking Merry and Pippin back, and grabbing a hold of Frodo again. Lucy then felt something wrap around her shoulder and waist, and completely panicked.

"_PETER_!" She shrieked. Peter, Susan and Edmund, still in the mines, whirled around when they heard the scream.

"_Lucy_!" Susan screamed, turning and dashing outside. Everyone arrived outside just in time to see Lucy and Frodo being hauled high into the air by the whipping tentacles. Without even aiming, Susan pulled back on the arrow and shot it in the area of the tentacle that held her sister. Peter, Edmund, Boromir and Aragorn went charging into the water, while Legolas and Susan fired from the shore.

"_Whoa_!" Lucy cried as the limb holding her spun about sharply. She caught a glimpse of Frodo, upside-down nearby. But then, something much more important caught her attention- the giant _thing_ rising from the water. It was, in fact, the body of the creature that held them. It looked like a cross between a gigantic octopus and a gigantic squid, but far uglier and scarier than either.

Frodo and Lucy screamed. The tentacles holding them jerked forward towards the creature, and to their horror, it opened its wide, gaping mouth… Which they were right over! Below, their rescuers hacked at the flailing limbs in a panic, knowing they'd lose them both if they didn't do something. Edmund gave a mighty swing at one tentacle, and managed to cleave it in half. Nearby, Aragorn and Boromir did the same. Without warning, Lucy came tumbling down, followed quickly by Frodo. They were free!

Aragorn caught Frodo (Who'd pretty much fallen on him) and Boromir dodged forward to catch Lucy. "_Into the mines_!" Gandalf roared from the shore. Instantly, the six in the water went charging forward, dodging the intact tentacles to avoid being caught.

"LEGOLAS! SUSAN!" Boromir roared. The two archers shot of an arrow each in one synchronized motion, hitting the creature in its main body. "RUN!" Once they reached the shore, everyone hauled arse inside to escape the tentacles, which thrashed and crashed at the door. There was a horrible rumbling from above, and Peter looked up to see the rocks above the entrance falling.

"MOVE!" He yelled to his siblings, pushing them forward. Everyone covered their heads as the rocks tumbled down, obscuring the exit. Both a blessing and a curse- a blessing, because it protected them from the creature. A curse, because…

When the rocks settled, there was a long silence. Finally, Gandalf spoke. "We now have but one choice." He said in a low, somber voice. "We must face the long, dark of Moria. Be on your guard- there are older and fouler things than Orcs in the deep places of the world."


	12. An Understanding and a Battle

Author's Note: PLEASE DON'T KILL ME! I'm sorry I took so long to update, PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!

* * *

Gandalf said that the journey to the other side of the mountain would take four days. He also warned them about being quiet, looking at Pippin in particular when he said it. As they walked up a long, stone flight of stairs, Edmund noticed Lucy's eyes flitting around somewhat nervously. As most older brothers do, he took advantage of this. "What's wrong, Lu? Scared of the dark?" He whispered.

Lucy glared at him. "Of course not. You?" Edmund snorted.

"What, are you kidding me?"

"No. You look _scared_."

"Why, you-"  
"What part of 'quiet' did you two not understand?" Gandalf snapped over his shoulder.

* * *

Moria was, in all forms of the word, creepy.

Cobwebs clung to the ceilings, walls, and to the hundreds of dwarven skeletons that lay about the massive mines. Sleeping was damn near impossible for almost everyone. Lucy, Frodo and Sam sat back to back, heads drooping as they attempted to stay wide awake. Usually, Peter or Susan would have attempted to get their youngest sibling to sleep, but currently, they were having trouble keeping themselves awake.

Edmund wasn't as visibly tired as his siblings- the only way you could tell he was tired was through his silence. Were he wide awake, he'd have been getting into arguments with his brother and sisters, or talking with Merry, Pippin or Boromir, all three of whom he'd taken a shining to. Edmund still owed Boromir for not calling him out when he was about to brain Peter with the snowball.

On the third- or maybe the fourth- (it was hard to keep track in perpetual darkness) day, Gandalf brought the company to a screeching halt. They stood before three different doorways, all carved in stone. Gandalf's piercing eyes flipped between the three doors, and he twitched his staff towards all three of them. There was a pause. "Gandalf?" Sam said, looking up at the wizard. "Is something wrong?"

For a moment, Gandalf was silent. Then- "I have no memory of this place."

Translation- "We're lost".

* * *

In a situation similar to the one they had before entering Moria, the Fellowship now found themselves sitting around, out of their minds with boredom, while their esteemed leader tried to figure out a way to get them moving along again. He sat on a small outcropping of rocks, smoking his pipe, while everyone else laid around and tried not to fall asleep.

During this time, Edmund approached Boromir, sitting down next to the Gondorian. When the man saw this, he gave the boy a curious look; Only on occasion had anyone in the Fellowship- with the exception of Peter, Susan and Lucy- been approached by Edmund, other than for sword-fighting tips. Surely Edmund didn't want to spar _now_? Here? There wasn't much room to maneuver about, so someone would probably get a limb or two lopped off…

Then again, from the way Peter and Edmund argued, that may have been what the younger boy had in mind.

"Hello, Edmund." Boromir said quietly (Everyone spoke quietly in the mines- Even without Gandalf's warning, everyone seemed obliged to mumble). "Did you want something?" Edmund nodded.

"I owe you." He said. Boromir cocked an eyebrow at this.

"For what?"

"Not warning Peter that I was about to hit him with a snowball, back on Caradhras. It slipped my mind until just now." Boromir chuckled.

"You don't 'owe' me, Edmund. I found it amusing." He leaned over a little, and whispered, "Not to mention, I managed to hit my so-called "king" in the head." He added, twitching his head towards Aragorn. Edmund snickered softly. For a moment, there was silence. "Back when Gandalf was trying to open the doors," Boromir said. "Pippin was complaining about being ganged up on, and you said 'welcome to my world'. Do you recall?"

"Yes."

"What did you mean by it?" Edmund snorted.

"What, haven't you noticed? Peter's always calling me out on something. I make a little joke, he snaps at me and tells me to grow up. I do something a little stupid, he snaps at me and tells me to grow up." His eyes narrowed. "It's not like he's perfect, or anything. And Susan and Lucy usually back him up, or don't get involved, so I'm usually left alone. It _stinks_." Boromir nodded sympathetically.

"It must be rough, being the second youngest. Not the oldest, not the youngest, with an older sibling showing you up on occasion. Sometimes, you feel like you need to beat them in such things." Edmund stared at the older man.

"Do you have an older brother?" He asked, surprised at how much Boromir knew about this. Boromir chuckled.  
"No. I _am_ one. My little brother, Faramir, and I are actually quite close. But, on occasion, we gave into competitive impulses and tried to beat each other at different things." He explained, shifting uncomfortably. "Our father… Well… He played favorites."

"He favored him over you?" Edmund asked. Boromir flinched.

"Other way around. I tried to be empathetic to him, instead of teasing him about it." He said. "It's a horrible feeling, really. And awkward, too, especially when you're both adults." Edmund's eyebrows shot up.

"Your dad _still_ does it?" He asked, disbelieving. Boromir sighed and nodded.

"Unfortunately, yes. That's why I'm here- Father sent me, because he believes Faramir has few uses. Believes him incapable. I hate it, but I grit my teeth and bear it. Occasionally, I lash out. Nothing deters him." He shook his head. "Faramir wanted to come. He really did. I wanted to stay, and help defend Gondor against the Orcs. But father said he only trusted me… He does not believe I will fail him." He met Edmund's eyes. "Do your parents play favorites as well?" Edmund shook his head.

"No. Since there are four of us… With no life-threatening missions in life… They try to treat us all the same." Now, the dark haired boy sulked. "But we're labeled anyway. Peter's the oldest, the leader, Susan's the smartest, the orderly one, Lucy's the baby, the sweet little angel, and I'm Edmund, the screw up." Edmund crossed his arms. "You are _so_ lucky to only have one sibling. Do you argue?" Boromir nodded.

"Occasionally. I suppose all brothers and sisters have their sporadic spats now and then."

"Do you argue as much as Peter and I do?" Boromir deadpanned.

"Edmund, I assure you- there is no one in Middle Earth that argues as much as you and Peter. You two are the reigning _champions_ in that area." Edmund chuckled.

"Yeah, I guess we are."

Just then, Gandalf spoke loudly. "Ah- it's that way." He jerked his head toward the door on their far left.

"He's remembered!" Merry exclaimed. Everyone let out a slight sigh of relief.

"No," Gandalf said, picking up his powder-blue hat from the rock beside him, placing it on his gray head, and lit the crystal on his staff again. "But the air doesn't smell so foul down here. Remember, Meriadoc- When in doubt, always follow your nose." So, they trekked down farther into the darkness, with only Gandalf's crystal for light. The tunnel they walked down was narrow, and Peter suspected he had just bumped into a skeleton (honestly, he didn't want nor need to know).

They reached the end of the stairs about two minutes later. "Let me risk a little more light," Gandalf murmured, the crystal suddenly glowing quite a bit brighter. Several people gasped. "Behold, the great realm and dwarf-city of Dwarrodelf." Gandalf said, the light from his staff brightening the unbelievably vast room they were in. Actually, it was more of a… Well, there wasn't really a word that could describe this place.

It was too big to be a room. _Way_ too big. A city, to the children, was bigger, and had buildings. Dwarrodelf had gigantic stone pillars that stretched from ceiling to floor, with somewhat simple designs carved into them. "There's an eye-opener, and no mistake." Sam whispered. They walked on a little, staring up at the non-visible ceiling (the light from Gandalf's staff couldn't travel that high).

Suddenly, Gimli made a distressed little noise, and ran off. "Gimli!" Gandalf called. The dwarf ignored him, jogging into a nearby room that had some sufficient light in it.

"Gimli, wait!" Lucy yelled, running after him. The rest of the company quickly followed. They found Gimli, shaking, in front of a stone coffin.

"No…" The dwarf moaned. When they entered the room, his friends saw that there were many, many skeletons scattered around. "Oh, no." Gimli was now on his knees, moaning and crying. Lucy walked up beside him, her eyes flipping from her dwarven friend to the coffin. There was something written on the lid, but she could not read it. Gandalf stepped up behind her.

"'Here lies Balin,'" He read aloud. "'…Son of Fundin, Lord of Moria.' He is dead, then." Susan and Lucy each put a hand on Gimli's shoulder. "It's as I feared." Gandalf removed his hat, gave it and his staff to Pippin, and then spied something out of the corner of his eye. He moved to a skeleton that was next to Peter, and knelt down. Peter turned and watched. Under the dwarf-skeleton's hand was a book; a big, thick book.

Gandalf carefully pried the bone-hand away, and removed the book. Standing up, he opened it, and blew away some dust from the ancient-looking pages. Peter moved next to him and observed the writing. "It's the writing from the coffin," He muttered. Gandalf nodded.

"Yes," He said. "The Angerthas. A writing often used by the Moria Dwarves." With the others, Legolas quietly approached Aragorn.

"We must move on," He whispered as softly as possible. "We cannot linger."

"Give him a minute," Susan whispered from her position next to Gimli, eyes narrowing sharply. When she saw Aragorn and Legolas' surprised looks, she said to Legolas, "That's right, you're not the only one that can hear everything."

"'They have taken the bridge and the second hall,'" The Fellowship all turned to Gandalf, who was reading aloud from the book. "'We have barred the gates… But cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums… Drums in the deep.'" He looked up briefly at all of them as he turned the page. Everyone was totally still and silent, eyes pinned on the wizard. He continued.

"'We cannot get out. A Shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out.'" He looked up again, and Peter saw that the last line was scribbled somewhat haphazardly. "'They are coming.'" And with that chilling finish, Peter just happened to turn and see Pippin reaching out to touch the hand of a skeleton sitting on the edge of a well.

"Pippin! _No_!" Too late. Pippin twisted the hand of the skeleton, and the head fell off. BANG. Everyone jumped and stared at the well (and Pippin). BANG. The skull banged its way down the well, occasionally hitting the sides. Pippin immediately whirled around, flinching when he saw Gandalf staring at him. When he turned his back, the rest of the skeleton fell in as well, also dragging down a heavy chain attached to a bucket.

The bucket, chain, and collective skeleton clanged their way to the bottom of the well, echoing in the vast mine. A full minute passed before there was silence again. Everyone was tense and silent. Pippin looked mortified, he shut his eyes and avoided Gandalf's eyes. There was a long, long pause. Gandalf slammed the book shut. "Fool of a Took!" He snapped. "Throw yourself in, next time, and rid us of your stupidity!" He snatched his staff and hat back from the Hobbit.

Lucy thought that his words were rather harsh. Sure, it had made a lot of noise, but there weren't any goblins left in the mines, surely?

_Boom._

Gandalf froze, his back to Pippin. They all turned to the well. Another noise echoed out.

_Doom-boom-boom._

Gandalf paled, and Lucy gripped Susan's arm. "What is that?" The older girl whispered.

_Doom-boom-doom-boom-boom…_

"Drums…" Edmund whispered.  
"Frodo!" Sam gasped. Frodo turned and pulled out his sword, Sting, that Bilbo had given him. Frodo had told Lucy that Sting glowed whenever there were enemies abroad. And right now, it was glowing pretty brightly.

"Orcs!" Legolas hissed. Boromir turned and ran to another set of doors, where scattered, strange noises were coming from. Edmund followed, pulling out his sword. The younger boy ran out first, followed immediately by Boromir. The Gondorian suddenly grabbed Edmund by the shoulder and ripped him back- a good thing, considering that a moment later, an arrow buried itself in the wooden door behind them (right where Edmund's head had been). Another arrow zoomed in and hit the door near Boromir's face, making him jerk back.

He and Edmund jumped back into the tomb, and pulled the doors shut. Aragorn joined them a moment later, pushing up against the doors. Boromir, who had gotten a fairly good look at what was coming at them, had a wry and dark look on his face. "They have a cave troll," He said wryly.

"Cave troll?" Lucy asked, sounding curious and worried at the same time. "What's that?"

"You'll find out soon enough." Aragorn said. "Stay behind Gandalf!" He called to her and the Hobbits. Legolas grabbed some axes from nearby and tossed them to Aragorn and Boromir. The two warriors slammed them into the door handles, forming a makeshift lock. "They'll break through this, but it'll buy us some time," Aragorn muttered. "Edmund, get back and get ready." Edmund, a little pale, nodded and ran back to stand next to Peter and Susan.

Gandalf drew his sword, Glamdring, while the Hobbits pulled out their swords, and Lucy, her dagger. Gimli leapt on top of Balin's coffin and hefted his axe with a battle cry. "Let them come! There is one dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath! _Khazad-dum!_" Legolas, Susan and Aragorn strung arrows onto their bows, and Peter, Boromir and Edmund raised their swords. For the Pevensies, this was their first official fight. They had never even seen a real sword fight before, never mind participated in one. It was terrifying.

The doors began to shake and jerk- something was hitting at them. A spear poked through the wood. The wood was splintering, creating small gaps. Legolas let an arrow fly right into a gap- an ugly screeching noise told them he hit his mark. Aragorn shot next while Legolas grabbed another arrow. Then Susan. All three arrows went throw the gap.

_**BAM!**_

The doors totally fell away, and a multitude of ugly, misshapen hunched creatures in jagged armor jumped in. Aragorn, Legolas and Susan shot in one, synchronized motion, and three goblins fell dead. The others rushed in an attacked the Fellowship, swinging axes, spears and pikes like wild animals. It was total chaos. Susan had to fight with a short sword, since she didn't have time to use arrows in the incredibly close-quarters.

With their own, horror/bravery mixed screams, Lucy, Sam, Frodo, Pippin and Merry ran forward, ducking the blows and stabbing at the uncovered parts of the Goblins. Nearby, Aragorn beheaded an enemy. Suddenly, everyone stopped. The ground shook as a massive… _thing_… came stomping into the tomb, led by a goblin holding a chain.

"Lucy," Merry whispered. "I do believe that _that_ is a cave troll."

* * *

Yeah, bad time to leave off, but I want to start a new chapter. I don't like making chapters too long.


	13. Hellfire

The troll raised its club, and everyone- Fellowship and Goblin alike- scattered out of the way. Legolas fired off an arrow at the troll, and hit it in the chest. It jerked back, and then ripped the arrow out of its tough hide like it were little more than a thorn. It let out a shuddering roar, and slammed its club down towards Sam. The hobbit let out a war cry and dove between the troll's legs, rolling away.

Sam crawled, momentarily unable to stand, and the troll pursued him. It raised a foot to stomp Samwise into the ground, when Aragorn and Boromir seized the chain that the goblins had led it by, and tugged hard. The chains around the cave-troll's chest went taut, and pulled it back, away from Sam. It stumbled backwards and swung its massive club around, very nearly taking off Aragorn's head. As he ducked, Boromir looked down and found himself still holding the chain.

Before he could drop it, though, the troll seized the length of chain and hurled Boromir into the air, slamming him into the wall above a raised section of the room. He rolled off, and was still for a moment. Aragorn saw a Goblin raise a sword to smite the Gondorian, and pulled out a dagger. Without even aiming, he threw it and hit the goblin in the neck, killing it instantly. He and Boromir exchanged a look, nodded, and got back to the fight.

Nearby, Lucy gaped. She _had _to ask Aragorn for some pointers on dagger-throwing. Back with the troll, Gimli (still on top of Balin's coffin), hurled his axe at the oncoming troll. It, like Legolas' arrow, got stuck in its chest. The troll was not deterred, and took a wide swing at the coffin. Gimli jumped away, and his cousin's coffin was smashed open. From the raised section of the room, Susan took aim for the troll's head and fired.

The troll happened to turn at that precise moment, though, and the arrow missed by a hair's breadth. But now, he saw Susan. Roaring, it stomped forward, raising its club to strike. Susan gasped and tried to move. Just then, Legolas came to her rescue, by firing off two arrows and knocking the troll on its back- it was down, but not out yet. Susan ran over to aid the elf in killing the goblins.

Peter hacked through a goblin, tripped another, and stabbed it through the back. This was _brutal_ fighting, but at least he wasn't fighting humans. He wasn't sure he'd be able to handle killing a human, unless they'd done something truly monstrous. He occasionally managed to catch a glimpse of one of his siblings fighting.

Lucy was holding her own remarkably well, for someone who relied on a dagger and good dodging skills. Edmund was honoring Aragorn and Boromir's teachings, parrying and striking just as they had taught him to. Susan was able to do more long-range fighting now, since there were less goblins. She did continue to use her knife, though. All in all, they seemed unharmed, and that alone gave Peter some peace of mind as he fought.

He might have been more concerned, however, if he had seen Legolas and Susan dodge the chain that the cave-troll had swung at them like a whip. Legolas pushed Susan and himself down as the chain flew by, then pulled them both back up. They jumped away from each other as the troll sent the chain smacking down between the human and the elf. It swung again, and the chain wrapped around a pillar.

Legolas slammed his foot down on the chain so that it held there, and then (To Susan's shock) ran up the chain onto the troll's back! Susan's jaw dropped, but then she quickly thought to hold down the chain herself, so Legolas wouldn't get thrown off. Legolas pulled out two arrows and shot them into the troll's neck, making it roar and screech. It jerked around, and Susan struggled to hold the chain tight. Legolas had to jump off, just as the chain snapped and the teenager landed hard on her back.

Below, Sam had abandoned his sword, and was fighting back-to-back with Lucy while using his frying pan, slamming it into the faces of the goblins. Lucy thought this was terribly comical, and would have laughed if she wasn't busy trying to keep her head. "Think I'm getting the hang of this!" Sam said to her.

"Me too!" Lucy chirped.

Nearby, Frodo, Merry, Pippin and Edmund were faced with the troll. They cried out and dove away as it brought its club down. Edmund, Pippin and Merry dived to the right, Frodo to the left. They all hid behind pillars, thought the troll focused on Frodo. "Why are all the big, ugly monsters focused on Frodo?" Edmund asked, finding this scenario similar to the one with the Watcher in the Water.

"Maybe the Ring's sending off some kind of "kill me" waves," Merry muttered. Edmund yelped as they were nearly taken down by a goblin from behind, and fought to parry its blows. From behind, he heard shouting and cries- then, suddenly, Merry and Pippin were screaming. Edmund finished the goblin, and whirled around. He froze.

It was Frodo. He had been stabbed in the chest with a lance by the troll. "_Frodo!_" Lucy shrieked, dropping her dagger. A goblin screeched and jumped at her, but an arrow from Susan cut it down. Merry and Pippin, screaming, jumped off the raised part of the room onto the troll's back, stabbing at it blindly. Roaring, it reached up and pulled them off, clutching the hobbits in its hands. The troll raised its head to roar, and Legolas took advantage of its exposed neck, letting loose an arrow.

The troll made a strangled sort of noise, and swerved on the spot. It moved to step forward, and everyone jumped back. Just in time- the troll fell forward, dead. Then, all attention turned to Frodo. Lucy, who was sobbing, and Aragorn had immediately charged over to hobbit after he was stabbed. "Oh, no," Aragorn whispered.

"Frodo! Get up!" Lucy sobbed, shaking the hobbit a little. Aragorn carefully moved her hands away, and turned the chocolate-haired hobbit over. To everyone's shock, Frodo groaned. Sam gasped and got down next to Lucy.

"He's alive!" Said Sam. There was a collective sigh of relief, and Frodo sat up, looking stunned.

"I'm all right," He said, dazed, as though trying to convince himself of this. "I'm not hurt." Aragorn stared at him in bewilderment.

"You should be dead," The Ranger whispered. "That spear would have skewered a wild boar." Gandalf stepped forward, leaning a bit on his staff.

"I think there's more to this hobbit than meets the eye," He said. Frodo stared, and then quietly pulled aside his jacket and shirt, to reveal a shiny, hard type of shirt beneath.

"Wow…" Lucy whispered. "What is that?"

"I'll be damned," Gimli said. "A coat of Mithril!" Peter turned to him, wiping off some goblin blood from his shirt.

"That's what harvested mithril looks like?" He asked. When they had first entered Moria, they had come upon a deep, deep pit that looked like a mine shaft. Gandalf had shined his crystal into the pit, making the walls glow with a sort of eerie light.  
"The wealth of Moria was not made in gold, or jewels," The wizard had said. "But in mithril. Bilbo had a shirt of mithril rings that Thorin Oakenshield gave him."

"Aye!" Gimli had exclaimed. "A kingly gift!"

"Yes. I never told him, but that shirt's worth was greater than the value of the Shire." Well. Now they knew where the shirt was, at any rate.

"You are full of surprises, Master Baggins." Gimli said with a small smile.

"Thankfully," Susan whispered, still a little shaky. Just then, a wave of high-pitched screeching and chattering reached their ears- the goblin's reinforcements were coming.

"To the Bridge of Khazad-dum!" Gandalf yelled, turning and jabbing his staff at the door.

"But I've lost my sword!" Peter said.

"Leave it! It's better than losing your head!" Gimli yelled.

The Fellowship immediately hauled out of the tomb to Dwarrodelf, dashing at top speed through the massive city. Behind them, they could hear hundreds of whooping goblins chasing after them. To their left and right, goblins appeared from the cracks in the floor. There was noise from above, and Susan happened to look up- only to see a myriad of goblins crawling from a crack in the ceiling!

"Gandalf! They're coming down the pillars!" She cried. But it was too late. They were surrounded on all sides. Back to back, the company drew their weapons and faced the goblins. There was the briefest of pauses, and then-

_Gruahhhhh…_

A low, guttural noise echoed through the hall. The goblins chittered a little, and then turned collectively to a doorway that had an eerie, orange-red glow coming from it. A second later, a louder sort of noise echoed again, and the goblins let out panicked noises and- to everyone's surprise- ran away, scattering back into the cracks and doors they had come from. Gimli barked out triumphant laughter.

But Gandalf stared at the red-glow, looking graver than anyone had ever seen him. Legolas strung an arrow. "What is this new devilry?" Boromir whispered in a low, solemn voice. The noise continued, and Lucy could have sworn it sounded like… Growling.

"Gandalf…" Edmund whispered. "What is that? A orc?" Keep in mind that he hadn't realized what an orc looked like- actually, there had been orcs mixed in with the goblins in Balin's tomb, but Edmund hadn't known that. Could orcs really be enough to make Gandalf quiet and grave? The wizard had shut his eyes, and was clutching his staff with an iron grip.

The growling noise echoed again, and the light spread further from the door. Gandalf opened his eyes. "A Balrog," He said in a low, grim way. "A demon on the ancient world." Lucy happened to look up at Legolas at that moment, and saw that the elf had paled considerably. "This foe is beyond any of you." Gandalf turned. "**_RUN!_**"  
Everyone turned their backs to the door and ran for their lives across Dwarrodelf, Gandalf constantly looking over his shoulder. His demeanor was enough to terrify everyone- if Gandalf, a powerful wizard who seemed to glare in the face of danger, quaked in the face of this unknown foe, then it was definitely something to be feared.

"Is the Balrog following us?" Susan cried.

"I'm not looking!" Peter yelled back. Gandalf led them into another staircase, which emptied into a vast cavern with seemingly no bottom. Boromir went charging down the steps, torch held high, and jerked to a stop. He wavered on the edge of an unfinished staircase, dropping the torch into the endless abyss below them. Legolas and Peter ran forward, seizing the Gondorian and pulling him back before he could fall in as well.  
"Lead them on, Aragorn!" They heard Gandalf cry. "The bridge is near. Do as I say! Swords are of no more use here!" And so, they all hurried down a narrow, winding staircase further into the pit. Just then, the came to a gap in the stairs. Legolas jumped across first, and then called for Gandalf. The wizard jumped.

"Peter! You next," The elf called. Peter hesitated, then took a deep breath and jumped. Gandalf's arm shot out and pulled the fifteen-year-old onto the stairs. "Susan!" The brunette paused before the stairs, frozen with quite a bit of fear. "Susan!" Flinching, Susan shut her eyes and prepared to jump.

"SUSAN! DON'T JUMP WITH YOUR EYES CLOSED!" Peter roared. His sister instantly opened her eyes and just jumped. Peter and Legolas caught her and moved her down behind them. Just then, an arrow whizzed past Merry and Edmund on the upper half of the stairs. Legolas and Susan pulled out their arrows and returned fire, taking down a handful of goblins. "Edmund!" Peter yelled. "Jump!"

Edmund, unlike his brother and sister, didn't hesitate, and jumped straight-forward. When he was safe, Boromir grabbed Merry and Pippin and jumped across the gap, landing shakily on the other side. When he pushed off, however, a piece of the stairs gave way! The gap was wider now, and much more of a challenge to jump across. "Sam," Aragorn said, grabbing the hobbit and carefully tossing him over the pit. Lucy hung back, clinging to Frodo's arm.

Aragorn turned to toss Gimli as well, but the dwarf narrowed his eyes and put up a hand. "Nobody tosses a dwarf!" He said, before turning and leaping across the gap with a loud cry. Legolas' hand shot out and grabbed the dwarf by the beard- Gimli had landed on the edge of the stairs, and very nearly fallen. "NOT THE BEARD!" Gimli roared.

Again, another situation Lucy would have found comical if they weren't in life-threatening danger. After Gimli was safe, the stairs on Aragorn, Lucy and Frodo's side crumbled again, and the all had to jump back to avoid falling with them. "Steady!" Aragorn gasped. The gap was now impossibly wide- they would only fall if they jumped across.

"What do we do?" Lucy whispered, eyes wide with fear. Just then, that terrible growling noise echoed again, and the ground began to shake. Ancient rock crumbled away from the walls, and huge chunk fell off, smashing clean through a section of staircase above them. The ranger, hobbit and girl were totally trapped. Jumping either way would kill them.

Suddenly, the section of the stairs they were on began to shake. Susan gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth. The foundation under the middle section was crumbling! The stairs began to weave back and forth, while the rest of the company watched on helplessly. "Lean forward!" Aragorn yelled, sticking out an arm so Frodo and Lucy wouldn't fall.

When they leaned forward, the stairs began to fall forward, gaining speed as they did. "Come on!" Legolas yelled, signaling for them to jump.  
"NOW!" Aragorn yelled, moving his arm. They jumped. Legolas caught Aragorn, Boromir caught Frodo, and Peter and Susan caught Lucy. Shaken, but not down, the Fellowship sprinted down the stairs as the middle section fell away. Finally, they reached a wide-floored hall. Ahead, they saw an incredibly narrow bridge- the Bridge of Khazad-dum.

"OVER THE BRIDGE! FLY!" Gandalf bellowed, standing aside and ushering the rest of the company on. Flames roared from the edge of the floor, and Lucy hung back for a moment, waiting for Gandalf. But just as she was about to call out to him… A giant creature, seemingly crafted from flames and darkness, shot up from the flames. It had two ram-like horns on its gigantic head, and a wide, gaping mouth with molten rock for teeth and lava in its throat.

Lucy froze. This was the single most terrifying thing she had ever seen. This was worse than bombs. Worse than the wraith. Worse than the squid creature. This was every childhood monster rolled into one. "LUCY!" She was broken from her reverie when Gandalf seized her arm and pushed her towards the Bridge of Khazad-dum.

They ran hard, and the Balrog stomped after them, creating a small earthquake with every step. The company dashed across the bridge, the possibility of falling nowhere near as frightening as the Balrog chasing them. Lucy ran blindly, paying attention only to the bridge before her so she wouldn't fall. Only when on the other side did she realize that there were only twelve people.

"_Gandalf_!" She screamed, realizing that the wizard was still on the bridge. Lucy jerked forward, intending to run out and pull him back, but Peter grabbed her arm and held her back.

"_You cannot pass_!" Gandalf bellowed to the Balrog.

"_GANDALF!_" Frodo cried.

"IS HE MAD?" Edmund screamed. "He's telling a two-story-high monster what to do!" The Balrog rumbled and puffed itself up, the flames on its body spiking for a moment, and large, leathery wings unfolding from its back. It jerked its hand up, and a long, white-hot sword, wreathed in flames, appeared in its hand.

"I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the Flame of Anor." Gandalf held up his staff in front of him. It glowed with bright white light, and encased him in an orb of pure light. "The dark fire will not avail you, _Flame of Udun_!" The Balrog roared and brought down its sword, and it crashed into the barrier of light that encased Gandalf. Angry, it roared as its sword disappeared. "Go back to the Shadow." Gandalf snarled. The Balrog stepped forward again, and now a whip of flame was in its hand. It snapped it in the air, as the rest of the Fellowship watched on in horror.

"**_YOU- SHALL NOT- PASS!_**" Gandalf roared, his words echoing through the cavern as he slammed his staff into the bridge. With a roar, the Balrog started forward, bringing up its whip, when the bridge collapsed beneath its feet! Roaring, the Balrog passed from sight as it sunk into the endless, black abyss below.

Gandalf was still for a moment, watching the Balrog's descent. His companions watched in nothing short of awe from the other side. Then, slowly, leaning on his staff, he turned and started back. Suddenly, there was a loud 'SNAP', and Gandalf stumbled. The Balrog had snapped its whip, and caught around the wizard's ankle!

"GANDALF!" Peter started to run to him, Legolas held him back.

"No! The bridge is unstable- you'll fall too!" Gandalf had slipped, and now clung to the end of the broken bridge. Frodo started to run to him as well, but Boromir stopped him.  
"GANDALF!" The Hobbit screamed. Gandalf stared at them all.

"Fly, you fools!" He gasped at them. Then, he slipped. He let go. He was gone.

"**_NO!_**" Frodo screamed. Goblins and orcs began to shoot at them from unknown places, and the Fellowship was forced to retreat. Boromir grabbed Frodo and dragged him along. Aragorn was still staring at the spot where Gandalf had just been, stunned. He felt Susan grab his arm and try to drag him along, heard Boromir call for him. But he was shocked. How could someone as powerful and wise as Gandalf be taken down by something as simple as a whip?

"Aragorn!" He finally let Susan drag him up the steps and out of the mines.

* * *

The sunlight was blinding, after spending roughly three or four days in total darkness. They came out onto a valley composed of large rocks, and collapsed as soon as they were away from the door. Sam sat down and covered his face with his hands. Gimli was waving his axe, wanting to go back into the mines and slaughter every moving thing he could find, but Boromir held him back.

Merry was trying to console Pippin, who was crying. Never again would he hear "Fool of a Took!". Legolas moved slowly, in a daze, still trying to comprehend what had just happened. Peter held a sobbing Lucy on his lap while tears streamed silently down his cheeks. Edmund was silent, staring off into space. Susan was crying, and wiping her wrist across her face to get rid of her tears.

Aragorn was wiping the orc blood off his sword. Finally, he spoke. "Legolas… Get them up." Legolas turned and stared at the human, disbelieving. Then, he silently walked over to Merry and Pippin.  
"Give them a moment, for pity's sake!" Boromir cried.

"By nightfall, these hills will be swarming with orcs!" Aragorn protested. "We must reach the woods of Lothlorien." Peter was half-angry at Aragorn for making them leave so quickly, but knew he was right. Gandalf would not have wanted them to linger here, grieving for him, if it meant they could be killed by the orcs.

Quietly, Peter rose and set Lucy down, putting an arm around her shoulders. "Ed," He whispered. "Come on. We have to go." Edmund snapped out of it, and stood up without complaint. Susan, her eyes red, took in several, shaky breaths to control herself. When they had roused the others, the Fellowship, now short one member, continued on for Lothlorien.


	14. The Golden Wood

They ran on for half a day, eventually ending up in a large, grassy field. After running across, they found themselves in a forest, where some of the trees had bright, golden leaves on their branches. Attempting to take her mind off of Gandalf, Lucy began to wonder if they were always like that, or if it was because it was fall.

"Stay close, little ones!" Gimli hissed to the hobbits and the Pevensies. "They say that a great sorceress lives in these woods." Hefting his axe, the dwarf looked around the forest suspiciously. "An elf-witch of terrible power."

"There are witches here?" Lucy said, mimicking his whisper.

"If there are wizards," Susan said in a low, toneless voice, "There are probably witches." Peter's eyes narrowed.

"Are you all right, Su?" He asked, putting a hand on her shoulder. Susan had been totally silent during the journey to the wood, and now her tone was flat, uncaring. Gandalf's death had obviously shaken the usually positive young woman. Even now, she ignored her older brother.

"All who look upon her fall under her spell." Gimli continued, eyes darting around nervously. "And are never seen again." Lucy nervously clutched Edmund's hand, also looking around timidly. Was Aragorn aware of this witch? And if so, then why was he leading them into her forest?

_Lucy…_ Lucy gasped and stopped moving. Edmund was unceremoniously jerked back, and he turned. "Lu, come on," He muttered. Lucy blinked. Hadn't he heard that? No. Edmund had heard nothing. Neither had anyone else. _Lucy Pevensie… You are not of our world… Nor are any of your siblings…_ Lucy was quaking now, pressing the side of her face into Edmund's arm.

"Well, this is one dwarf she will not ensnare so easily." Gimli chuckled dryly. "I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox." Lucy squeezed her eyes shut.

_Go away…_ She thought.

"Oh!" Lucy's eyes shot open, and she found an arrow in front of her face. It was an elf. Several elves, actually, all with arrows pointed at members of the Fellowship. Legolas had his bow out as well, though he didn't appear willing to shoot.

"The dwarf breathes so loud, we could have shot him in the dark." An elf said, stepping forward. Gimli growled at the elf, but Aragorn put his hands up.

"Haldir," He said quietly, nodding. Haldir nodded back.

"Aragorn, son of Arathorn." He said. "Long has it been since you trekked the woods of Lothlorien." His eyes flipped over the other members of the Fellowship. "And you brought friends." Suddenly, a motion caught both of their eyes. Susan had knocked an arrow away from her face, looking irritated.

"Get the arrow out of my face." She growled at the elf, not sounding at all like her usually polite self. Aragorn gave her a wary look.

"Susan," He said softly. "Relax." She glared at him.

"Then tell him to back off," She snapped. "This is the twentieth time I've had an arrow pointed at my face in a day, and I'm getting sick of it." Chuckling nervously, Peter walked over and put his hands on his sister's shoulders.

"You'll have to excuse her," He said. "She's grieving." Susan brushed his hands away, and Haldir walked over to them. Lucy was stunned- recall, in chapter eight, when it was said that she was expecting Susan to snap at any time, any day?

Well, that day was today, apparently.

Haldir looked the adolescent in the eyes, and then signaled for the archer to lower his arrow. "There are few that would speak so boldly when threatened with death." He remarked, studying her. Susan didn't respond. Haldir turned back to Aragorn, who let out a sigh of relief. "Tell me- what brings this company to Lothlorien?"

* * *

Hours later, they were found on a leaf-shaped platform high in the trees, where Haldir was formally addressing them. He said something in elvish to Legolas, who responded back in elvish. Then, Haldir addressed Aragorn.

"So much for the legendary courtesy of the elves," Gimli snarled. "Speak words we can all understand!" Haldir turned to the dwarf.

"We have not had dealings with the dwarves since the Dark Days," He said, his voice a little bitter. Gimli snorted.

"And you know what this dwarf says to that?" Gimli spat out something, presumably in dwarvish, and Aragorn shut his eyes again- the day's events were beginning to tax on his nerves. He felt a headache coming on. Gripping Gimli's shoulder, he hissed,

"That was not so courteous." Apparently, Haldir could understand every word of what Gimli had said, because he regarded the dwarf coldly. Haldir's eyes flipped around to the other members of the Fellowship, briefly lingering on Susan, who held a dozing Lucy on her lap. When she met his gaze, he looked away. Finally, his eyes settled on Frodo.

"You bring great evil with you." He stated, piercing eyes boring into Frodo's. He turned back to Aragorn. "You can go no further." Aragorn sighed, and then went after Haldir. For the next hour, the Fellowship sat around the platform while Aragorn and Haldir whispered in elvish nearby. Edmund took this time to speak with his older sister.

"Su," He whispered. "Susan." She turned.  
"What?" She whispered.

"What happened back there?" Edmund whispered. "I've never seen you talk to a grown-up like that. Usually, you're little Miss prim and proper." Susan glared at him.  
"We all have our days. You do too." She muttered. Edmund's eyes twinkled.

"Sis… You have a dark side… It speaks to me…" For the first time in a while, Susan cracked a smile.

"Don't get used to it. After I get some sleep and finish grieving, I'll be annoyingly positive again." She said softly.

Then, Haldir approached the company.

"You will come with me."

* * *

They were still walking into the early evening of the next day; hobbits and children in the back, along with Gimli, and Aragorn, Boromir and Legolas up front with Haldir. Several elves accompanied them, for reasons unknown to the Fellowship. Finally, they reached a high hill, from which a large gathering of enormous trees could be seen. Haldir smiled.

"Caras Galadhon," He said. "The heart of Elvendom on Middle Earth. Realm of the Lord Celeborn and of Galadriel, Lady of Light." The trekked onwards into Caras Galadhon, where the trees were as thick as fire engines, and glowing crystals illuminated their path. Spiraling, amazingly crafted staircases wound around the trees, leading to platforms and other things.

Night fell, and the wood was illuminated with white and blue light, creating an ethereal scene as the company hiked up a long, spiraling flight of stairs. This was truly the most beautiful place any of the Pevensies had ever seen in their lives. There was no place in their world that was like this. Haldir led them to a platform before a small flight of stairs, and they waited there for something.

Then, two elves descended the stairs, hand in hand. A man and a woman- Peter suspected right off the bat that these people were Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. They both seemed to glow with a pure sort of light, like their home. Lord Celeborn was tall and regal, with long, silver hair and bright blue-gray eyes. Lady Galadriel was dressed in all white, with long blonde hair and clear blue eyes.

Many of the Fellowship, with the exception of Legolas, felt the need to cast their eyes away when the two elves approached. But they found themselves looking up again when Celeborn and Galadriel reached the bottom of the stairs. Celeborn, a somber look on his face, spoke first, in a clear, deep voice. "The enemy knows you have entered here. What hope you had in secrecy is now lost." He looked around at them all. "Twelve there are here, yet thirteen there were set out from Rivendell. Tell me, where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him."

As he spoke, Galadriel turned and looked to Aragorn. She didn't turn, really- just moved her eyes a little. But with that one glance, she seemed to understand. "Gandalf the Grey did not pass the borders of this land. He has fallen into shadow." Celeborn looked to her in slight surprise.

"He was taken by both Shadow and Flame." Legolas said quietly. The Lord and Lady looked to the Prince. "A Balrog of Morgoth." Lucy, clutching Susan's hand, shuddered at the memory of the Balrog. "For we went needlessly into the net of Moria."

"Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life." Galadriel said. "We do not yet know his full purpose." She turned and looked at Gimli, who had averted his eyes. "Do not let the great emptiness of Khazad-dum fill your heart, Gimli, son of Glòin. For the world has gone full of peril, and in all lands, love is now mingled with grief." She turned and glanced at Boromir. After a moment, he made a little noise and looked away.

Then, Galadriel looked to little Lucy, still holding her older sister's hands. _Lucy…_ It was Galadriel- only she was speaking to Lucy using her mind! That was the voice she had heard when they had first entered the forest! _Do not despair, little one,_ Galadriel said, visibly smiling at the child. _For those we love never truly leave us. They watch us, and protect us. Even in death, Gandalf will guide you and your friends._ Lucy managed a small smile at the elf queen.

"What now becomes of this Fellowship?" Celeborn asked. "Without Gandalf, hope is lost."

"The quest stands upon the edge of a knife," Galadriel said. "Stray but a little, and it will fail, to the ruin of all." Again, she looked to Boromir, who continued to look uncomfortable. "Yet hope remains while the company is true." She now glanced to Edmund. And like his sister, Edmund also heard the Lady of Light's voice in his head.

_Edmund Pevensie… Do not fear. You will have your chance to show your quality and find your place. Do not burden yourself with such worries. It will happen in due course._ Shocked at this, all Edmund could do was nod a little.

Now Galadriel spoke aloud again. "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Go now and rest, for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight, you will sleep in peace."

* * *

That night, they slept on the ground under the shelter of a tent and some very large roots. Susan and Edmund shuddered upon seeing the tree, remembering hiding under a similar one when they were attacked by the Nazgul. While unpacking, Legolas had tilted his head up, listening. The elves were singing something in their own tongue, and he could obviously understand it.

"A lament for Gandalf," Said Legolas. Merry listened for a moment.

"What do they say about him?" He asked quietly. Legolas paused.

"I have not the heart to tell you. For me, the grief is still too near." He said.

"Join the club." Edmund grunted, already flopped into his bedroll with his back to the others. Gimli was asleep by now, having unpacked before the others. Aragorn was sharpening his sword, while the hobbits unrolled their blankets.

"I bet they don't mention his fireworks," Sam said. "There should be a verse about them." He paused, and then stood up.

"_The finest rockets ever seen,_

_They burst in stars of blue and green,_"

Lucy, who was sitting next to Frodo, smiled. "Gold and red, too. Remember the dragon, Frodo? Did I tell you what happened? When the dragon flew down, it Gandalf and I fell over, and Gandalf's mug overturned on his head." She giggled. "He looked so funny." Frodo cracked what was probably the smallest smile known to any race.

"_Or after thunder, silver showers,_

_Came falling like a rain of flowers,_"

At the third line, Gimli had given a particularly loud snore, and Aragorn whacked him. Edmund and Lucy giggled. Sam sighed and sat down again. "That doesn't do them justice by a long road." He muttered. Susan went over and put her hands on his shoulders, smiling sweetly at him.

"It was touching, Sam, really. I wish we could have seen them." She said.

"And whose fault is that?"

"_Lucy!_"


	15. Before the Plunge

They stayed in Lothlorien for two days, until they needed to move on. Before they left, however, Lady Galadriel wished to present them with gifts. Each member of the Fellowship received a dark green elvish cloak, with a leaf shaped brooch. "May these cloaks help shield you from unfriendly eyes," Celeborn told them.

Then, Galadriel presented them with individual gifts. To Legolas, she gave a bow of the Galadhrim. To Merry and Pippin, daggers of Noldorin, that had been used in war before. Sam, some elvish rope. Frodo, the Light of Elendil, a bright crystal. When she came to Gimli, Galadriel asked what he would like. "Nothing," Gimli said. "Only to look upon the lady of the Galadhrim one last time, for she is more fair than all the jewels beneath the earth."  
Galadriel smiled, and Gimli blushed- especially when he heard Susan and Lucy giggling nearby. "When did you become a poet, Gimli?" Susan whispered. Gimli mumbled incoherently, and then turned back to Galadriel.

"Actually… There was one thing… No, no, I couldn't, quite impossible… Stupid to ask…"

"Ask, Gimli. There's no such thing as a stupid question," Lucy prodded him. Galadriel gave a little laugh.

"Quite true, Lucy. Would you like to ask me later on, Gimli?" The dwarf nodded, still blushing, and Galadriel smiled and moved on to Lucy.

"To you, Lucy Pevensie, I give this." She handed Lucy a glass bottle. "In this vial is a juice made from fire flowers, a rarity in Middle Earth. If you or any of your companions are hurt, a drop or two of this will heal them. I caution you now- this is a powerful mixture, but it cannot bring back the dead." Lucy nodded and gave a little curtsy.

"Thank you, Lady Galadriel." She said. Galadriel gave the little girl a smile, and then moved to Susan.

"To you, Susan, I give this horn." She handed the young woman a finely crafted horn. "I am certain that if you are ever in danger, if you blow this horn, help will come." Susan gave a little bow.

"Thank you, Lady Galadriel." She said. Now came Edmund.

"To you, Edmund, I give this shield." She handed him a fair-sized shield. "It will deflect almost everything that can be thrown at you. Though, I would hesitate on trying to block a cave-troll's club." The elven queen said with a little laugh. Edmund smiled.  
"Thank you," He said softly. Galadriel nodded, and moved onto Peter, who straightened up upon her approach.

"I understand you lost your sword in the bowels of Moria, Peter." She said. Peter nodded.

"Yes, ma'am." He said.

"I give to you this sword- it is made of stern material, and is hard to scratch. It may be heavier than what you are used to, but I suspect you will wield it well." Peter nodded, blushing a little.

"Thank you, Lady Galadriel." He said.

* * *

Finally, they departed in elegant boats; Aragorn was in with Frodo, Sam and Lucy. Merry, Pippin and Edmund were in together. Boromir was with Peter and Susan, and Legolas and Gimli traveled with some excess supplies. The river Anduin was pretty peaceful, and the Fellowship encountered no problems (For once in their quest…)

They sailed for the day, and docked at nightfall. Well, not exactly "docked", seeing as how they were on the shore of the River. At night, Peter was laying next to a rock, trying to sleep, when he heard Aragorn on the other side of the rock, talking. "Gollum. He has tracked us since Moria." Peter opened his eyes and sat up. Who was Aragorn talking to? Taking a quick inventory of the camp, by process of elimination, the blonde boy realized it was Boromir.

"Peter?" It was Susan. She noticed him looking so attentive, and she addressed him. "Is something wrong?" Peter put a finger to his lips, and jerked his head at the rocks. Susan crawled over and knelt down beside him.

"Aragorn and Boromir are back there," He whispered. "Someone's been following us since Moria." Quietly, making sure no one noticed him, he edged between the rock he was next to and another, so he could get a better look at the two men.

"Peter!" Susan hissed. "Eavesdropping! And I wondered where Lucy and Edmund picked it up!" Peter rolled his eyes, though he hid it from Susan- she'd deck him if she saw it.

But, sure enough, the curiosity was too much, and his sister joined him. A log floated along on the river, and stopped on the other shore. "…I had hoped we would lose him on the river, but he is too clever a waterman." Said Aragorn.

"If he alerts the enemy to our whereabouts, it will make the crossing even more dangerous." Boromir muttered. Then, he stood up and turned to Aragorn. "Minas Tirith is the safer road. You know that. From there, we can regroup. Strike out from Mordor from a place of strength."

"Here they go again," Susan whispered. Like most other times, another fight would probably break out over this. This certainly wasn't the first time Boromir had attempted to get Aragorn to lead them to Minas Tirith. The Gondorian had never attempted this with Gandalf, knowing that the wizard would be unmoving, and he should have realized that Aragorn would be just as stubborn.

"There is no strength in Gondor that can avail us." Aragorn said in a low voice.

"You were quick enough to trust the elves," Boromir said, his voice rising in level. "Why do you have so little faith in your own people? Yes, there is weakness. Yes, there is frailty. But there is also courage! And honor to be found in men! But you will not see that!" Aragorn looked ready to respond, when he happened to glance over Boromir's shoulder.

"Down!" Peter hissed, shoving Susan down. If Aragorn saw them, he gave no indication. Instead, he turned back to Boromir, and the two teenagers slowly popped back up. Aragorn turned away from the Gondorian, clearly intending to end the one-sided argument there. But Boromir grabbed him by the arm and jerked him back. Susan gasped softly; she and Peter were uncertain as to how the Ranger would react to this.

"You are afraid! All your life you have hidden in the shadows, scared of who you are- what you are!" Boromir yelled, attracting some slight stares from the others in the camp. Aragorn, however, was unfazed. He coolly jerked the edge of his shirt from Boromir's grasp and turned away again. Then, almost as quickly, he turned back around.

"I will not lead the Ring within a hundred leagues of your city." By now, he was right up in Boromir's face, and definitely sounded a lot angrier than his facial expression had let on. "That is the _last_ time I will say it, Boromir. The very last." And with that, Aragorn strode back to the others. Susan and Peter scrambled out from the rocks, the former accidentally landing on the latter.

They both looked up when Aragorn walked up. He stopped near them, and then turned his head to look at them. From the way his gray eyes burned into them, Peter had little doubt that Aragorn wasn't aware of him and Susan eavesdropping. But he said nothing. Aragorn merely fixed them with a piercing gaze, and then walked on.

To the two eldest Pevensies, though, it was as bad as being yelled at.

* * *

The next day, everyone was very quiet. While they hadn't heard the full conversation (With the exception of Legolas, whose hearing was far more accurate than anyone else in the Fellowship), many got the gist that Aragorn and Boromir had had a fallout. Boromir seemed to be in a resolutely foul mood, and no one attempted to talk to him. He didn't attempt to speak to anyone either, so this was considerably easy. He also noticeably kept his boat as far away from Aragorn's as possible.

They paddled on for hours, until they came upon two gigantic statues, carved into the stone of the surrounding cliffs. "Wow!" Lucy gasped. "What are those?"

"The Argonath," He said. "The statues of Isildur and Anàrion, the first kings of Gondor. Long have I desired to look upon the kings of old. My kin." Just past the Argonath, there lay a giant waterfall, split in two by a tall, wide rock. The Falls of Rauros- their last stop. The boats would be of no more use here. They set up a temporary camp, and settled down for a quick rest.

"We cross the lake at nightfall." Aragorn said. "Hide the boats and continue on foot. We approach Mordor from the North."

"Oh, yes?" Gimli said dryly, smoking his pipe. "Just a simple matter, really, of finding our way through Emyn Muil, an impossible labyrinth of razor-sharp rocks. And after that, it gets even better! Festering, stinking marshland as far as the eye can see." Pippin, who was eating something next to the dwarf, stopped chewing abruptly. Edmund sighed.

"You really know how to inspire courage, don't you, Gimli?" The black haired boy said sarcastically. Aragorn cocked an eyebrow.

"Like it or not, that is our road. One of the most discreet we could hope for. I suggest you take some rest and recover your strength, Master Dwarf." Gimli puffed up.

"Recover my-?" He grumbled about this for a few minutes. Just then, Legolas approached Aragorn, looking restless.

"We should leave now," Peter heard him whisper.

"No." Aragorn said back. "Orcs patrol the eastern shore. We must wait for the cover of darkness." Legolas turned to the forest, looking worried.

"It is not the eastern shore that worries me." He said. "A shadow and a threat has been growing in my mind. Something draws near. I can feel it." Back with Gimli, Edmund and the hobbits, Gimli was still grumbling about Aragorn's advice.

"Recover my strength- pay no heed to that, any of you." He mumbled. "I am at the top of my strength." Merry, who had just brought in some firewood, looked around.  
"Where are Frodo and Lucy?"

* * *

Lucy was wandering aimlessly in the woods, keeping a vague, mental idea of which way the Fellowship's camp was. Before she had come to Middle Earth, Lucy had never really taken a long walk in a forest. Since she and her family lived in the heart of London, there obviously wasn't a forest around for miles. And since their parents had to support themselves and four children, trips to the countryside were rare. And even then, they never really walked in the woods.

Middle Earth was so beautiful; so peaceful, so _whole_. Apart from Moria and some ruins they had come across in their travels, there were no destroyed places. No ruined homes, torn apart by bombs and cannons. No screaming people trying to make it to their bomb shelter before being killed. No sobbing children that were being forcibly separated from their parents because of the overwhelming danger. In many ways, Middle Earth seemed far much better than Earth. With the exception of the terrifying monsters that could scare the living tar out of even Hitler and his Nazis.

Lucy sighed. She, her brothers and her sister had been gone for at least two or three months. Was the war over? If so, who had won? Had the Nazis captured England? Did the English surrender? Where was their mother? And their father? Was she safe, in the bomb shelter? Was he in his bunker, flipping through the letters they had sent him since he had left? Or had they both been…

Tears prickled at the edge of Lucy's eyes, and she forced those horrid thoughts from her mind. Ever since Gandalf, who had been much like a grandfather to her and her siblings, had died, these thoughts about her friends' and family's mortality had plagued her. In her sleep, she saw visions of a bomb falling on her mother. A cannon tearing through her father. Graphic, scarring dreams for a little girl, but even she knew that either scenario was totally possible.

That was another, secret reason she had wanted to help Frodo. A war could spring from this- she had heard Gandalf, Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas and Gimli talking about it. Apparently, there already _was_ something of a war on because of Sauron; in Gondor, Boromir's home. Lucy knew from experience how horrible war could be, and if she could help slow or stop the spread of it, she would.

She didn't want another little boy or girl to have to sob helplessly while their father went off to war. She didn't want another child to have to sit around their house, terrified that a man from the army would come to the door, his hat off in respect, to tell them that their father was dead. Oh, the agony… The time between their father's letters was sheer agony. Every day that a letter didn't come meant that he could've been dead. Oh, how they worried…

Lucy also felt sick at the thought of more people having to go through the total terror of war; sure, losing a loved one was a constant dread, but there were other, more immediate threats. For her, it was the Nazis dropping bombs onto London. For the people of this world, it would be those disgusting, ugly, frightening creatures knocking down doors and slaughtering people. Somehow, that struck her as something far more horrible than being blown up… That was fairly quick- but getting hacked on by a monster would probably be slow and painful…

Suddenly, she was snapped out of her macabre reverie by the sound of shouting. It sounded like… Boromir? "_Frodo! I'm sorry! FRODO!_" Lucy's eyes widened, and she immediately ran up the steep forest floor to find her friends.

* * *

This is the last chapter I'll be posting for a while… I'm not giving up on this story, I just need to get inspired to get off my lazy butt and work on the upcoming chapters…


	16. The Breaking of the Fellowship

Author's Note: Well. I did it. I forced myself to sit down one Saturday night (the Saturday before Midterms…) and finished this chapter (it was half done when I picked it up again).

Drama. Central. I am totally serious. This chapter is so full of drama, it should be featured as a soap opera. Hell, it even out-does some of the crap that goes on in my high school…

This is probably one of the longest (if not the longest) chapter in the story.

* * *

Peter had told Edmund to stay in the camp. Edmund's first thought as everyone dashed off?

_Screw that!_

If only to agitate his older brother, and to satisfy his curiosity, Edmund hiked up the hill after the others had gone. Peter and Aragorn would probably be mad if and when they found out that Edmund has disobeyed Peter's order, the eleven-year-old honestly didn't care. He also wondered why everyone was in such a tizzy- Lucy was probably with Frodo, and it was possible that they were both with Boromir.

So why was everyone panicking?

"Jumpy as rabbits, the lot of them," Edmund muttered, pushing a branch out of his face. Just then, he caught something- a noise. Heavy breathing, panting. Edmund froze, and quietly moved a hand to his sword. "Hello?" He called out, tentatively and slowly.

"Edmund?"  
"Oh," Edmund sighed, releasing the hilt of his sword and running up the hill a little. "It's you, Boromir." He turned a little, and saw the Gondorian near a large, decapitated statue-head. The older man had a hand against it, and was panting heavily. Edmund's brow furrowed. "Are you all right, Boromir? You don't look well." Boromir looked to the English boy, meeting his concerned eyes. Then, he stumbled over and sat on a log, covering his face with his hands. Edmund paced forward. "Are you hurt?"

Boromir shook his head. "Oh… No, Edmund, no… But I should be. By all rights, I should be…" Edmund plopped down next to him, looking at the man with a strange look.

"… Why?" He asked, confused. Boromir shook his head, and refused to meet the boy's eyes.

"Oh, Edmund… I've just done something horrible. Something unforgivable." Edmund blinked.

"Come now, Boromir, what could you have done that was so unforgivable?" Boromir whispered something unintelligible. "What? I didn't hear you."

"I…" Boromir croaked. "… I tried to take the Ring from Frodo." Edmund's eyes widened as the warrior continued. "I am so ashamed… I lost control of myself, of my senses. This… This is why my father sent me here, Edmund: To get the Ring. To bring it to Gondor, so that we might defend it and push Sauron's forces back. Only now do I realize that there is no hope to use the One Ring as a weapon. It drives men to madness, and brings ruin to all that behold it."

Edmund was stunned. Such a powerful speech, coming from such a seemingly broken man. "Boromir…" He said softly. Boromir cut him off with a shake of his head.

"Edmund, please… Go. When the others find out what I've done, they won't want you near me." He whispered. Edmund's eyes narrowed sharply, and he jumped up from the log.

"Forget the others! You're my friend, Boromir! You couldn't control yourself. It's not your fault! You're only human!" He yelled. Boromir finally looked up.

"It's _different_ for you, Edmund! You don't feel the pull of the Ring's power! You don't feel it gnawing away at your mind, at your sanity! And don't look at me like that- if you felt its pull, you would be in far worse shape than I am." He stood up and shook his head. "For you, Peter, Susan, Lucy… It's different. Somehow, the Ring does not affect you."

"Who says?" Edmund snapped.

"No one has to! _I know!_" Boromir snapped back. "Your brother… he's talked to Frodo. But never once has he glanced at the Ring. Neither has Susan. She is far too cheery to truly feel the Ring's effect. They are the oldest of you four- they would understand best the power it holds." Boromir turned away for a minute, pacing towards the statue head. "They, in theory, know that it could bring them power, but they do not desire it!"

"How do you know?" Edmund challenged, hands on his hips. "How do you know they don't want it? Have you asked them?" Boromir turned sharply, eyes narrowed.

"Edmund, I don't have to ask. I will repeat- _I know!_ Even at the Council, while everyone in the circle felt the Ring's pull, felt it beckoning to them, your brother and sister merely stared at it in confusion. They felt none of its strength! And Lucy- she is far too innocent. Too childish to want the power, even if the Ring did affect her. But it hasn't, just like it hasn't affected any of you!" He said, exasperated.

Edmund was silent. He couldn't tell Boromir that he was wrong, because he wasn't. Edmund had simply assumed that because he and his siblings were still kids, they were less tense than the adults. But maybe he was wrong- maybe they had been tense because of the Ring, and the four Pevensies had been at a bit of ease because they didn't feel it. But now, what could he say to ease Boromir's immense shame?

"Frodo will understand." The boy said firmly. "And so will Aragorn, and the others." Boromir shook his head, yet again.

"No, Edmund, they won't. And even if they did, they'd watch me like a hawk from now on. They'd never leave me alone! Their mistrust would be too much to bear. I'm better off trying to find my way back to Gondor from here…" The Gondorian said, defeated.  
"Then I'm going with you." Now Boromir looked mad.

"No!" He snapped. "Not only would that be irresponsible, but Peter would behead me and Susan would shoot me if I allowed you to come with me!"

"You can't go alone," Edmund protested. "You know what kind of things are out there; you could be killed!"

"So could you!"

"I don't care!"  
"WELL I DO!" Boromir roared. Edmund jumped- the roar was as unexpected as what had been said. Boromir took a moment to calm down, and then continued. "You are young, Edmund. You have your _life_ ahead of you. You have things to look forward to. You are not a warrior. You do not have a country you need to die for, and you won't until you're sixteen. You have other choices. Other paths. This… This is my path."

There was a pause.

"Your path is to wander off in a forest, without a map, and get eaten by Orcs?" Edmund asked. Boromir stared at the boy for a minute, wondering if he was serious. It seemed so.

"Not all those who wander," The Gondorian said quietly. "Are _lost_. And yes, you little imp, of course I have a ma-" Suddenly, he stopped and turned. "What was that?" Edmund froze.

"What was what?" He asked. Boromir's brow furrowed, and he jerked his head to their left.

"Listen," He whispered. Edmund listened. There was a pause. Then, he heard it. Clanging, roars, shouts… "A battle," Boromir said, drawing his sword. "Edmund, come!" And so, the man and boy ran off to the battle.

* * *

Lucy came upon her hobbit friend atop a hill. He was panting, and sitting in the dead grass near a stone structure. "Frodo! Are you all right?" She gasped, thinking he was hurt. To her surprise, he jumped and scrambled away from her as though she were an Orc. Lucy's brow furrowed in confusion, and she took a little step forward. "Frodo?" She asked softly. "What's wrong?"

Frodo scrambled to his feet, shaking a little, and staring at the ten-year-old girl before him. "Tell me, Lucy," He whispered. "Do you feel it?" Lucy blinked.

"Feel what?" She asked, honestly oblivious. Frodo stared, again, at her for a moment, as though trying to discern if she was lying or not.

"The Ring…" He whispered. "Does it call to you, Lucy? Does it ask you to take it?" Lucy was silent for a moment, at a total loss of words. Then, quietly, she walked forward so that she was right in front of him. Frodo did not move. Then, she shook her head.

"No," She said. "The Ring hasn't talked to me. And even if it did… I wouldn't take it." Frodo seemed to relax a little, and Lucy sighed. "Frodo, I don't _want_ it. I don't _need_ it. I don't need power. And if I did, I would get it another way. Frodo, I've seen what happens to people when they get too much power. They go mad with it, and hurt people…" She shuddered briefly in memory of Adolf Hitler. "I want the Ring destroyed as much as you do."

Frodo's shoulders sagged, and he sighed. He had studied Lucy's face- her words were sincere. "Lucy… I'm so sorry. Boromir… He tried to take the Ring…" Here, Lucy gasped. "I don't know whom to trust anymore. Even Aragorn…" Speak of the devil… Enter Aragorn, running up the hill and calling Lucy and Frodo's names. "Lucy… I need to find this out for myself. Please… Go back to the camp." Lucy opened her mouth to protest, but then backed down.

But instead of really leaving, she scuttled over behind the stone building and crouched down, waiting for Frodo and Aragorn to finish their talk.

* * *

In the woods, Susan and Gimli were running up the hill, calling out to Frodo and Lucy. Susan, being just a few inches over five feet tall, and without armor to weigh her down, had an easier time climbing up the fairly steep forest floor than Gimli did. "Aye, lass, slow down! I cannot- ARGH!" Without warning, the dwarf slipped and rolled backwards down the hill.

"Gimli!" Susan immediately turned and leaned back as she ran down the hill, to avoid falling as well.  
"Just my ruddy luck!" The dwarf roared- he was caught between two trees. Susan sighed and rolled her eyes. "Cut me loose!" The teenager pulled out her knife and began to cut at the inside of the thinner of the two trees, trying not to cut Gimli in the process.

"All right, I've almost-" There was a loud, guttural roaring noise, and Susan jerked her head up. And for the first time during their journey, Gimli heard the young lady swear.

"Damn!"

"What? What is it?" The dwarf snapped. Then, turning his head, he let out a yell. Dashing towards them were heavily armored creatures, taller than any man and three times as thick, with rusty swords, roaring in deep, scratchy voices. "SHOOT THEM!" Gimli bellowed.

Susan grabbed an arrow, stopped, and then grabbed her horn. Putting it to her lips, she gave a long, hard blow, producing a loud and ringing note through the forest. Then, she let loose a few arrows at the monsters running towards them. When they were closer, she saw that their skin was a mottled sort of color- a mix of black, dark blue, brown, dark purple and red. Their hair was stringy and unkempt, and they bore a white hand on their armor.

One such monster charged at the still stuck Gimli and attacked. The dwarf ducked, and the creature's blade sliced through the trees instead, cutting the dwarf loose. Now free, he swung his axe like one possessed and killed more of the creatures than were coming at them at once. This gave Susan another chance to blow her horn.

And another chance for someone to hear it.

Farther away, Peter and Legolas- the latter of whom had heard something approaching rapidly- heard Susan's horn. "Boromir?" Peter said, turning. "Was that Boromir?" Legolas shook his head.

"No. That was your sister. The horn that Galadriel gave her sings a higher note than that of the Horn of Gondor." The elf said. He paused, and then his expression grew dark. "We are under attack. We must find the others!" Not long after dashing towards the sound of Susan's horn, they came upon the girl and the dwarf battling the new monsters on the steep forest floor.

"Where are Aragorn and Boromir?" Legolas called, shooting a creature in the neck.

"We don't know!" Susan called back, tripping and stabbing another. "We couldn't find them!"

* * *

Further up (And earlier on), Lucy watched as Frodo and Aragorn came to terms. No, Aragorn did not want the Ring. He swore to protect Frodo, and was vigilant of it. Lucy quietly peeked out from where she was hiding. Until just now, she had shielded her ears from the conversation, feeling that this was private, and now felt that it was almost over.  
"I would have gone with you to the end." Aragorn said to Frodo. "Into the very fires of Mordor." His voice was softer than she had ever heard it before.

"I know," Frodo said in a raspy whisper. "Look after the others. Especially Sam, and Lucy. They will not understand." Lucy's breath caught in her throat. Understand what? What was he doing? Why would Aragorn need to look after her and Sam? Aragorn appeared to understand, though- he nodded slowly… And then jumped back and pulled out his sword.

"Frodo, go!" He yelled. Frodo stared, and then pulled Sting out of its sheath a little. Even from her position, Lucy could see it was glowing. They were under attack! "Go!" Aragorn yelled again. "Run!" Frodo ran- but Lucy came out from her hiding spot.

"Aragorn!" She yelled. The Ranger whirled, surprised to see her there, and then he went grave.  
"Lucy, go! This is beyond you!"

"You can't fight alone!" She cried back.

"Lucy- no. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you. Please- run!" Aragorn said. Lucy hesitated, wanting to protest, but… From the shaking of the ground, she guessed that he was right- this _was_ beyond her, just like Gandalf said about the Balrog. Then, Lucy immediately tried to expel that train of thought; now she'd end up worrying if Aragorn would be killed.

So, Lucy fled down the hill, not looking back. As she ran, she heard someone shouting, "_Hey! Hey! Over here! Follow us!_" Followed by some deep, throaty roaring noises. At this, she increased her speed, dashing head-long to the camp.

* * *

It was Merry and Pippin that Lucy had heard shouting. They were attempting to draw the attention away from their fleeing cousin, Frodo. They were too busy trying to avoid losing their heads to notice Lucy go charging by. The creatures (Which henceforth will be called "Uruk-Hai", because the author is out of synonyms for "creature" and "monster") didn't notice the child either.

"I think it's working, Merry!"

"I know it is! Run!" Merry cried as the Uruk-Hai charged at them, rusty, jagged swords held high as they let out their guttural screams. Unnoticed by all, Lucy ran down the hill toward the camp, while Merry and Pippin played the distraction. But there then came a moment when the Uruk-Hai closed in on them, while they stood on a small stone bridge that connected two sides of a small ravine.

Trapped, the two Hobbits looked back and forth frantically. It was a grim scene. Then, there came a ray of hope- who came charging but Boromir and Edmund, their swords held high as they ran towards the attacking monsters. One Uruk raised its sword high, intending to cut down the two hobbits, when Boromir slid forward and blocked the blow with his own sword. This struck up bravery in Merry and Pippin's hearts, and they pulled out the knives they had received from Lady Galadriel.

Edmund found the Uruks far harder to cut down than orcs- orcs, at least, weren't seven-feet tall, and didn't wear armor as thick as these creatures'. But somehow, they and their companions far up the hill managed to hold off the monsters. With their bows and arrows, Legolas and Susan were able to cut down the Uruk-Hai before they touched either of them.

Suddenly, a long, deep note resonated through the air. Legolas turned. "The Horn of Gondor!" He whispered.

"Boromir!" Aragorn immediately concluded. He wanted to charge down and look for his friend, but it was no use- the Uruk-Hai were too many, and there was no way to run past them. They would have to cut each one down to find their friends.

On the hillside, Boromir blew the horn again. In his heart, however, he knew it was no use. The Uruks were thick in number, and undoubtedly, Aragorn and the others were having their own troubles. For the time being, he, the hobbits and Edmund were on their own. As mentioned before, the fighting was hard, since the Uruks were so much bigger and stronger than orcs or goblins. But they had their weak points- gaps in the neck of their armor and such.

But then came the face of trouble.

One Uruk- possibly the tallest, strongest and ugliest of the lot- trudged over the side of a hill. In his hand was a crude and wicked looking crossbow, with a black-feathered arrow strung. He observed the warriors, and immediately picked out his targets- three small ones, two with knives, one with a sword. The sword-wielding one was probably one of the human children, but the Uruk-Hai- Named Lurtz- would take no chances.

He pulled the string of the crossbow tight, pulled up the arrow, and aimed at the fourth warrior; a tall, human man with dark hair, also wielding a sword. He cut down Lurtz's subordinates with great vigor, trying to cut down the numbers to a manageable size. But it would all be in vain, as Lurtz well understood; no mere human could hope to triumph against the fighting Uruk-Hai. He released the arrow, and it found a place in the human's chest.

Nearby, Edmund screamed. Merry and Pippin turned, as shocked and as horrified as their friend. Boromir froze, a look of similar shock on his face. He put a hand on his chest, near where the arrow had pierced, as though not comprehending what had happened. Then, he fell to his knees in pain. Edmund ran to him. But before he could reach the Gondorian, the man pulled himself up with a cry, and continued to fight the Uruks.

Edmund was shocked. In the past, if he so much as scraped a knee he couldn't move… But an arrow through the chest… What a warrior his companion was! He fought as though the arrow simply wasn't there. But it could not last. Edmund turned slightly, and saw what he dreaded- the Uruk that wielded the crossbow. The Uruk-Hai raised the bow again, and before Edmund could shout out a warning, another arrow found a home in Boromir's chest.

Now, neither of the wounds seemed too serious for the moment. Well, not as serious as they could have been, like if Boromir had been hit through the heart. Two more screams broke Edmund from his shock, and he turned to see two massive Uruks carrying off Merry and Pippin! "Edmund…" He turned to see Boromir looking at him intensely. "Go! Help them!"

"No!" Edmund didn't want his friends to be kidnapped, but if the Uruks weren't killing them on sight, they probably had orders to take them alive, whereas one of the Uruks had gone directly to the killing phase with Boromir. The Uruk-Hai seemed to dissipate around him, having apparently already found what they were coming for. Boromir was attempting to rise again, but was hindered by the arrows in his chest. While Edmund took care of the remaining Uruk-Hai, Boromir was temporarily left alone.

That's when Lurtz moved in. He seemed to stare for a moment at the man, observing him with some obvious scorn. Boromir stared back, perhaps in defiance. Lurtz raised his crossbow, an arrow pulled back on the string. He aimed. He-

"NO!"

Without warning, Edmund leapt in front of the Gondorian, his sword pointed at Lurtz. "Back off!" The eleven-year-old cried.

"Edmund, move! You'll be killed!" Boromir hissed. But Edmund shook his head in refusal. He would not leave Boromir to be killed.

"Halfling," Lurtz grunted out in a deep, scratchy voice. "Move!" He had orders to take the Halflings alive and unspoiled. Whether or not Saruman had implied both hobbits and children, he did not know, but he would not take the risk of his master's anger. When he saw that this little Halfling was not planning on moving, Lurtz let out an angry bark- he had no choice but to take them both alive.

Signaling to two other remaining Uruk-Hai, he barked at them to take the two humans with them.

* * *

Lucy met Sam near the shore. They saw Frodo in the boat, almost a quarter of the way across the river to the eastern shore. "Mr. Frodo!" Sam cried, running out to the water.

"Sam, wait!" Lucy yelled, following after him.

"Go back, both of you!" Frodo yelled to them. "I'm going to Mordor alone!"

"Of course you are! And we're going with you!" Sam said as he sloshed through the water. Lucy followed close behind. They began to get into deeper water, and Lucy had to start doing a dog-paddle (she had been swimming since she was barely three). She reached the boat before Sam, clinging to the side.  
"Sam, _you can't swim!_" Frodo screamed. Lucy stared.

"He can't?" She panicked.

"SAM!" Sam had sunk below the water, gasping. Frodo jumped into the water, and yelled for Lucy to hold the boat still. He disappeared under water for a moment while Lucy watched fretfully nearby. An instant later, Frodo reappeared, pulling his dear friend back to the boat, where all three stumbled inside.

"Are you all right? Why didn't you say you couldn't swim?" Lucy gasped.

"Sorry," Sam whispered. But then, he looked to Frodo. "I made a promise, Mr. Frodo. A promise! 'Don't you leave him, Samwise Gamgee'! And I don't mean to!"

"Neither do I!" Lucy piped up. "We're your friends, Frodo! This is what friends do for each other. We can't let you go this alone." Frodo looked on the verge of tears again. He reached over and threw his arms around the hobbit and child.

Then, they were off to Mordor.

* * *

Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Peter and Susan reached the shore just as Frodo, Sam and Lucy reached the other side. "Lucy!" Susan gasped when she saw her sister leave the boat. She and Peter ran over to a boat, intending fully to get in and go after the younger girl.

"Hurry!" Legolas said, also following the siblings. "They've reached the eastern shore!" But there was no response. Susan turned to Aragorn and Gimli, looking mildly bewildered.

"Come on!" She said. "We have to go get them!" No response, again, though Aragorn gave her a brief glance. "Aragorn?" Peter and Legolas turned to the man.

"You mean not to follow them." Legolas said softly.

"What!" Peter cried. "They can't go to Mordor alone, they'll be killed!" Aragorn met the boy's eyes.

"Frodo's fate," He said. "The fate of the Ring is no longer in our hands. Your sister is safe with Sam and Frodo- they will not let any harm befall her."

"But it has all been in vain, then," Gimli grumbled. "The Fellowship has failed, if we can no longer aid the Ring-bearer." The four walked up to Aragorn, looking to him for what course of action to take. He paused, and then looked to them all.

"Not if we hold true to each other," He said. "Frodo, Sam and Lucy are safe. But Merry, Pippin, Boromir, Edmund… The Uruk-Hai have taken them. Their lives are in greater peril. We will not abandon them to torment and death." (He regretted those last few words when he saw the look on Peter and Susan's faces). "Not while we have strength left." Aragorn pulled back and sheathed the knife he held. "Leave all that can be spared behind. We travel light. Let's hunt some Orc."

* * *

Congrats to everyone who figured out who went with who before I posted this. I hope it wasn't too obvious…

ALSO: I just wanted to make it really clear that I am NOT abandoning this story. Never. This is too good of a story to drop, and I've gotten some excellent support for it.

Up next: Part two, the Two Towers!


	17. Emyn Muil

All right, I'm back. Don't worry- I saw Prince Caspian last night at 8:05, and it really lita fire under my ass. It is currently 2:00 in the afternoon, and I have not slept all night. I was typing the chapters to this story. There will be semi-steady updates for a while.

ALSO: Please. I am NOT ABANDONING THIS STORY. OKAY? I am a HIGHSCHOOL STUDENT and my teacher's enjoy seeing how much work they can pile on us until we all crack. Not to mention, Lord of the Rings isn't the only fandom I write for.

* * *

Emyn Muil was a rather dark and dreary place.

Mist hung heavily in the valleys, making it difficult to breathe. One could sample the very air, which tasted of grass and rain water. Since Lucy lived in London, the air had no taste of grass. Of the more recent times, it tended to taste and smell of burning metal and smoke.

It was so quiet. Not like with the rest of the Fellowship, where Merry and Pippin hated silence and tried to strum up conversation whenever such a scenario came. She recalled that one time, Merry had said, _"It's too quiet. Someone do something."_ Edmund had shrugged.

_"Okay."_ He had then calmly proceeded to punch Peter hard enough to knock him over. That had escalated into a fist-fight that ended in Aragorn and Susan tugging the two brothers off of each other, as they faced their sister's wrath.

Lucy's heart wrenched. Peter. Edmund. Susan. Oh, Peter and Susan were probably either furious or worried out of their minds about her. Lucy could remember their reactions when the children were home alone in London, and Lucy happened to disappear for a moment- Susan rose hell at one time.

It was so important that Peter knew where everyone was when their mother was at the hospital. Especially after one incident, when an earlier-than-usual air-raid happened, and Lucy and Edmund weren't home yet. The two youngest Pevensies had taken shelter in some ruins to protect themselves, but Peter and Susan had been scared out of their minds at home in the shelter.

Apparently, Susan had almost gone looking for them, but an officer stopped her and ordered her back to their bomb-shelter. When Edmund and Lucy showed up hours later, covered in soot and smelling of smoke, the brunette had broken down into tears and hugged them hard, as did Peter (though Edmund wormed his way out of his brother's hug a bit quicker).

Lucy shuffled a little in her sleeping roll. She would see her siblings soon, undoubtedly. They would meet up on the path to Mordor. But even with this comforting thought, one thing resonated within the eight-year-old's being-

This was the first time in her life she had ever been so far away from all of them at once.

* * *

Emyn Muil required a lot of climbing. The craggy cliffs and rocks were so steep, they had to use a rope to get up and down; specifically, the rope that Lady Galadriel had given Sam. But climbing in such a manner was terribly frightening, especially when you didn't know what was at the bottom.

"Can you see the bottom?" Sam called down to Frodo. Frodo was at the lower point on the rope, Lucy above him, and Sam above her. He looked downward, but the mist and fog below was simply too thick.

"No- don't look down, just keep going!" Frodo called back up. Sam didn't look too pleased with the answer, shutting his eyes and leaning against the rock. Without warning, a small wooden box fell from his pocket.

"Sam!" Lucy yelled. Sam gasped.

"Catch it!" He cried. Lucy stuck out her hand, and missed. The box fell farther, towards Frodo, and the hobbit jerked his hand out- he caught it! But then, he wobbled uncertainly, and fell from the rope!

"_FRODO!_" Sam and Lucy shrieked. There was a small 'thump' noise, and a pause.

"Well," Came Frodo's calm voice. "I think I found the bottom." Sam and Lucy were down about two minutes later, and they approached Frodo, who was examining the extremely rocky path.

"Bogs and rope and goodness knows what. It's not natural, none of it," Sam was whispering to himself, still shaken from Frodo's 'near death' experience. Frodo held up the tiny box Sam had dropped. Lucy saw that it had a funny, leaf-like symbol on the cover, and was a little beat-up.

"What's in this?" Frodo asked Sam.

"Nothing. Just a bit of seasoning." Sam said. "Thought maybe if we was having roast chicken or something one night." Lucy giggled.

"Roast chicken?" Frodo asked, looking amused.

"Where will we find a chicken out here, Sam?" Lucy asked through her laughter. Sam shrugged and grinned a bit himself.

"You never know." He said simply.

"Sam, my dear Sam," Frodo chuckled.

"It really is special- best salt in all the Shire. A little reminder of home." Frodo smiled.

"It is special, then." He said, handing the box back to Sam. He walked back to the rope, and Lucy examined the now opened box.

"I'll let you know if I spot a chicken spying on us from the rocks," She said with a smile.

"You do that."

"We can't leave this here for someone to follow us," Frodo said, nodding to the rope.

"Who's going to follow us down here?" Sam asked. "Shame, really- Lady Galadriel gave me that while were in Lothloríen. Real Elvish rope. Well," He sighed. "I suppose there's nothing for it. It's one of my knots- isn't going to come free too easily."

He gave the rope a little tug, and suddenly, it all came tumbling down. The two hobbits and the human child stared. There was a pause.

"Real Elvish rope." Frodo repeated with a shrug.

* * *

After they hiked further on and the day continued, some light broke through the mist. Once they got to a certain height, the fog had almost completely dissipated. They came to a pique on the hill, and saw something far on the horizon. "That," Lucy said, pointing at a group of mountains with a red glow and dark clouds above them. "What is that?"

Sam looked grim. "That there's Mordor. The one place in Middle Earth we don't want to see any closer… The one place we're trying to get to." He shook his head. "But getting there… honestly, I think we're lost. I don't think Gandalf or Aragorn meant for us to come this way."

Without warning, Frodo's breathing became a lot more shallow, and he had to sit down. "Frodo? Are you all right?" Lucy asked, plopping down beside him. Sam set his things down as well, and they all at once decided to rest.

"It's the Ring, isn't it?" Sam muttered, looking concerned. Frodo paused, then nodded.

"It feels… It feels like it's getting heavier." He whispered. He shook his head a little, and tried to compose himself. "What food have we got left?" He asked Sam. The blonde hobbit rifled through his pack.

"Let me see… Oh, yes, just lovely- Lembas bread. And look!" He pulled out another hunk of Lembas. "_More_ Lembas bread." Lucy giggled, and Sam broke off two pieces of the bread and threw them to his companions. "I don't usually hold with foreign food, but this Elvish stuff- it's not so bad."

"Yes," Lucy agreed in what she hoped was a cheerful voice that masked her weariness. "And we don't have to eat as much. The perfect traveling food." Frodo smiled at the two.

"Nothing dampens your spirits, does it?" He asked. Sam sighed.

"Those rain clouds might," He muttered, nodding to a group of oncoming dark clouds.

* * *

That night was spent huddled in their cloaks, miserable, while the rain poured down around them. None of them slept. It wasn't quite as miserable as some of the nights spent on Caradhras, all of which had been miserably cold instead of just wet. The next day, they stumbled through more rolling fog and sharp rocks.

"This looks strangely familiar," Sam noted about a particular outcropping of rock. Frodo moaned.

"It's because we've been here before," He said, agonized. "We're going in circles…" Sam reached the top of the outcrop and looked around.

"Ugh," He muttered. "What a horrid stench. I warrant there's a nasty bog nearby. Can you smell that, Frodo? Lucy?"

"Ugh, yes I can," Lucy mumbled, her nose wrinkling at the stench.

"So can I," Frodo muttered wearily. There was a pause, he stared out into the fog… and then said something that alarmed Sam and Lucy.

"We're not alone."


	18. Gollum

That night was windy and a little cold, so it was under the cloaks for the travelers again. The three appeared to be peacefully asleep- but it was not so. Lucy, Sam and Frodo were wide awake, only pretending to be sound asleep. Frodo sensed that someone was right behind them, and that it was time to confront them.

They settled down, and waited patiently. Sometime in the night, when the clouds had parted and revealed a crescent moon, Lucy felt a pang of terror when she heard someone- or some_thing_, rather- above them, its breathing raspy, whispering in a harsh, croaky voice… "_The thieves, the thieves, the filthy little **thieves**_…" It sounded so malevolent, so cold, that Lucy was literally frozen in place.

"_Where is it? Where is it? They **stole** it from us, **my preciousssss**_..." The voice drew out in a long hiss, and Lucy's heart pounded. What was it talking about? They hadn't taken anything from anyone. Was this an Orc? An Uruk? A Goblin? "_Curse them, we **hates** them! It's ours, we **wants it!**_" A long, bony, gnarled, pale-gray hand reached down, and they sprung.

Frodo and Sam snapped up and grabbed the shadowy creature by its bony hand and yanked it off the rock it was clinging to, crashing down into the dirt. It twisted and snarled, throwing the two off as Lucy watched in horror. The creature had a large, fairly bald head with only a few strands of sickly, stringy, greasy hair hanging off it.

The creature had large, blood-shot, crystal blue eyes that could pierce the very soul. Its skin was pale and grayish, and clung to its bones like parchment paper. A single scrap of cloth hung around its waist, and its mouth was open in a snarl that revealed blackened and rotting teeth. With a loud, gurgling cry, it launched at Frodo, screeching like a wild animal.

Lucy screamed and grabbed its shoulders, attempting to pull it off. The creature was trying to get the Ring! "Get- off- him!" Lucy grunted. But it was no use- the monster's grip was steel. Sam scrambled over and tried to help Lucy pull. But the creature turned, back handed the two and sent them flying back.

Sam jumped up and managed to rip the creature from Frodo, but then, it sunk its teeth into his neck! Shouting in pain, Sam fell over, grappling with the creature as it now tried to kill _him_, grabbing him in strangle hold and trying to choke the poor hobbit to death. In an instant, Frodo was up again, Sting unsheathed, and pointed at the creature's thin, ugly neck.

"This is Sting," Frodo hissed. "You've seen it before, haven't you…_Gollum_?" The creature let out a long, irritated hiss. Regardless, Frodo pressed on. "Release him," He whispered, "Or I'll cut your throat." There was a pause. Then, the creature let out a long, strangled, anguished cry.

* * *

The next day, the travelers walked on, only with one new addition- Gollum, the murderous creature, who screamed and cursed and threatened them, causing Lucy to stay as far away from him as humanly possible. Sam was holding the irate… thing… on the rope he'd gotten from Galadriel, tugging him along as they moved. "It buuuuurns!" The creature shrieked. "It buuuuuurnses us!"

This was another curious thing- the creature (Gollum) did not use "I" or "me"; It used "us" and "we", and more often than not hissed its words (Thus "burnses"). When he'd first done it, Lucy had been tempted to ask why; but then he'd broken out into a slew of words that would have made a sailor blush, and her curiosity momentarily abated. "It freeeezes! Nasty Elveses twisted it!"

"He's very dramatic," Lucy whispered aside to Frodo. The brunette nodded in agreement.

"Overly so," He muttered as Sam dragged Gollum along, looking very much like a disobedient dog and its angry master.

"Quiet, you!"

"TAKE IT OFF US!" Gollum tugged furiously at the Elvish rope around his neck before throwing his head back and wailing pitifully at the sky. Lucy felt some pity for him- however, she also felt some irritation at his dramatics. She slapped her hands over her ears when his shriek increased in pitch.

"Every Orc in Mordor is bound to hear this racket! Can't we just tie him up and leave him?"

"No!" Gollum and Lucy had expressed their sentiments at this simultaneously; Gollum in fear and Lucy in astonishment.

"That would kill us! Kill us!"

"He'd starve!"

"It's no more than he deserves! Have you forgotten, Lucy, that he tried to slit our throats in our sleep last night?" Sam argued. Frodo, however, had something resembling compassion in his eyes.

"Maybe he does deserve to die… But now that I see him," He said as Gollum writhed about on the ground, "I do pity him." Gollum heard this and stopped his wriggling. With hope in his eyes, he slid into a sort of crouch on the ground (It seemed that he was incapable of standing up straight).

"We be nice to them… If they be nice to us." He put on a deeply pained face and proffered a piece of the rope at Frodo. "Take it off us!" He spread his spindly, pale arms apart in acquiescence. "We will do whatever you asks of us…" Lucy put a hand on Frodo's arm.

"Be careful," She whispered. "He's a fair actor. And he really wants the Ring." Frodo nodded steadily.

"She's right. I can't trust you around the Ring, and there's nothing you can promise that can prove to me you won't try to steal it."

"We swears on the Precious! We swears on the Precious that we won't touch the Precious, or try to harm the nice Hobbitses or girlses…" Gollum crawled forward and crouched at Frodo's feet. Lucy leaned back a little, and the spindly little creature stared up at Frodo with clear, crystalline eyes. "On the Precious."

"I don't believe you!" Sam shooed Gollum away from them, sending him scurrying backwards towards the rocks. In his momentary fear of the Hobbit, Gollum tried to scramble up the rocks to either escape or hide. "Get down- _Get down from there!_"

"Sam!" Lucy was shocked at Sam's brutality with Gollum. He was a stout Hobbit who stuck to his guns, but this was a little too harsh for Lucy to accept. "Stop it!" Gollum shrieked again, with reason now as he tumbled back down the jagged rocks.

"He's trying to trick us!" Sam barked as Frodo and Lucy stilled him. "We let him go and he'll throttle us in our sleep!" Gollum hacked and rubbed his throat where the rope had pressed into it. Frodo regarded the pathetic creature warily for a moment.

"Gollum," Gollum flinched. "You know the way to Mordor?" Gollum nodded.

"Yes." His chest rose and fell noticeably faster when Frodo approached him then, believing that he would be harmed. But then, Frodo knelt down and looked him in the eyes.

"You've been there before?" Gollum's eyes widened fearfully.

"Yes…" Lucy's brow furrowed. Gollum had gotten to Mordor… Then escaped? That was an encouraging thought. There must be a way in: the way Gollum had escaped through. Frodo silently concurred, reaching over and removing the loop from Gollum's neck. Gollum was silent a still for a full several seconds, stunned at the act. Sam looked disapproving- Lucy was nervous. Would Gollum honor his promise?

Frodo was all business, eyes boring into Gollum's. "You will lead us to the Black Gate." Gollum froze for a moment… And then his eyes lit up. He jumped into his crouching position.

"To the Gate, to the Gate! To the Gate, Master says. Yes!" He began to lope up the path, and Frodo, Lucy and Sam all followed quickly, carefully maneuvering so as not to lose their footing on the rock and gravel. Lucy could hear Gollum mumbling to himself between his audible sentences. He ran so far up ahead that Sam's eyes narrowed.

"Hey! HEY!" They lost sight of Gollum. There was no noise. "You see? He's run off, the villain! What did I tell y-"

"This way!" They all jumped as Gollum popped up from behind a rock. "Follow me!"

"Sam," Lucy whispered. "He'd probably be more inclined to help if you were nicer to him." Sam's expression was dark.

"Nicer, right. Nicer right until he strangles us."


	19. The Endless Run

Boromir was forced to run in spite of his injuries; the Uruk-Hai couldn't be bothered to carry a full-grown, albeit injured man. They did, however, carry Edmund and the Hobbits. Partly to save time, partly to make sure they didn't escape. This, unfortunately, worked both ways- the boy and Hobbits were restrained by ropes and Uruks, and Boromir was restrained by the fact that they were trapped. He would not attempt to run away (Even if he _could_) for fear of what the Uruks would do to his smaller companions.

Boromir was the worst off; after him, Merry, then Edmund, then Pippin. Merry had a head wound (he'd hit it on something- or been hit _by _something) that had him in and out of consciousness for a while. Edmund's left arm was dislocated, and was incredibly painful to move. When they eventually came to rest, Boromir would have to relocate it (Something Edmund dreaded- he'd heard it was painful).

Pippin had a few scratches, but was largely unharmed. His main concern was his companions: Boromir was in danger of falling dead on the run alone, the depth of Merry's injury was unknown, and Edmund was in serious pain. Since Boromir and Edmund were a full two Uruks ahead of him and Merry, though, Pippin focused on his semi-conscious cousin.

"Merry," He hissed. He was cautious, not knowing if he was supposed to be talking. "Merry!" Merry said nothing, his eyelids fluttering vaguely. Up ahead, Boromir was attempting to focus on remaining on his feet.

"How are you holding out, Edmund?" He gasped to the dark-haired boy. Edmund made a slight, pained noise as his poor arm was jostled roughly again.

"Y-Y-You?" He grit out. Boromir managed a small, encouraging smile.

"I'll live…"

The column came to a sudden, sharp halt. The leader's hand was up. Then, from behind a large, jagged rock came four Orcs, all of whom seemed to be significantly smaller than the Uruk-Hai. "You're late!" Their leader grunted. "Our master grows impatient." The Uruks growled, clearly irritated at being chastised by the inferior Orcs. "He wants the Shire-rats now!"

"I don't take orders from Orc-maggots," The Uruk leader growled, baring his teeth menacingly. "Saruman will have his prize. _We _will deliver them." The Orc leader, unnerved, stepped back. Satisfied, the leader turned back to the column. The Orc leader made a face at his back. In this tense and very, very _bad_ situation, Edmund could not avoid remembering several fights between him and Peter that had ended similarly…

"Merry," Pippin tried again. "Merry? Wake up," He turned to a nearby Uruk who was drinking from a flask. "Please," He pled. "My friend is sick. He needs water!" The Uruk leader heard this and cackled cruelly.

"Sick, is he? Give him some medicine, boys!" The Uruk with the flask laughed gutturally and tilted the opening over Merry's half-open mouth. The liquid that poured out was certainly not water, though- it was blood! Merry choked and gagged.

"Stop it!" Edmund yelled. The Uruk-Hai all laughed wildly.

"Can't take his draught!" The leader sneered

"Leave him alone!" Pippin cried. The Uruk leader snapped back to a serious countenance.

"Why?" He approached the two Hobbits, and gestured to the still gagging Merry. "You want some?" He turned around to look at Boromir and Edmund. "Or maybe you two?" None of them said a word. "Then keep your mouths shut!" He made his way back to the front of the column.

"Pippin," Boromir croaked. "Is he okay?" Pippin turned back to Merry.

"Merry… Mer-" He stopped, surprised. Merry's eyes were open and somewhat unclouded.

"Hello, Pip…" He murmured dazedly. Pippin's eyes were narrowed in concern and fear.

"You're hurt…" Merry chuckled.

"It's nothing. It was an act." He rasped.

"An act?" Merry _had_ hit his head.

"Yeah… See? I fooled you lot… As well…" His smile faded. "Don't worry about me, Pippin."

"What is it? What do you smell?" Edmund heard the leader snap. There was a pause.

"Man-flesh." The boy turned sharply to face Boromir, ignoring the fiery pain that raced through his shoulder.

"_Aragorn!_" He mouthed. Boromir nodded vaguely, trying to use the time they'd been given to rest himself as much as possible.

"They've picked up our trail!" The leader hissed, shooting a truly ugly look at Edmund and Boromir. "Let's move! Double-speed, maggots!" Boromir bit back a groan, and Edmund tried to quell the emotions rising in his chest. He was hopeful, excited- Aragorn was coming! And more likely than not, he had the others with him! For the first time in a very _long_ time, Edmund would be really happy to see his brother and sisters.

But he also felt dread. The Uruk-Hai were increasing their speed, and they would arrive at Isengard soon- too soon. And Edmund was worried that Boromir wouldn't be able to last much longer on this run.

* * *

Those few days after the Fellowship split were spent running, for Aragorn's group. There was little to no time for sleep, in order to keep up with and eventually catch the Uruk-Hai. Susan was a veritable nervous wreck; Lucy was off with Frodo and Sam and that thrice-damned Ring making a bee-line for Mordor, and Edmund was being held captive by the Uruk-Hai with Boromir, Pippin and Merry.

Peter, when not busy catching his breath, attempted to soothe his sister's shattered nerves. "Boromir's with them," He said to Susan as Aragorn pressed his ear to a large rock. "He's fond of them. He won't let anything happen to them." Susan nodded numbly. Peter knew his sister well- she wouldn't be calm until Edmund was standing right in front of her again.

Aragorn's eyes snapped open. "Their pace has quickened," He said, sitting up straight again. "They've caught our scent. Hurry!"

"This is why you shouldn't wear perfume, Susan," Peter said lightly. His reward for attempting to break the tension was an annoyed look from the brunette girl. Legolas hurried up the rock as Aragorn, Peter and Susan started off. He stopped at the top, then turned back.

"Come on, Gimli!" The elf took off after the three humans as the dwarf huffed and puffed his way up the steep, rocky slope.

"Is he all right?" Susan called back. Legolas nodded.

"Merely slow," He said, a casual semi-jab at Gimli. Gimli approached the elf and the girl, gasping.

"Three days and nights pursuit. No food, no rest, and no sign of our quarry but what bare rock can tell! And I heard that, elf!"

* * *

Gimli ended up falling behind several times as they ran, sharply yelling ahead not to wait for him. The others spoke very little, using what breath they had for running. They encountered no Orcs, no Uruk-Hai- just the endless, grassy, rolling hills of the land. Midday, they came upon a path between two raised ledges in the landscape. Here, Aragorn came skidding to a stop. He knelt down.

"What is it?" Peter gasped, steadying himself on the rough wall nearby. Aragorn held up something. It didn't register for a moment, but then Susan realized that it was a clasp from the cloaks that had been given to them in Lothloríen: A distinct gold and green leaf pendant.

"Not idly do the leaves of Loríen fall," Aragorn said softly. "They may yet be alive." Susan's gaze drifted to the ground, and what she saw there disturbed her.

"Aragorn, Legolas," She said. "Is this blood?" Legolas joined her, examining the spot she was pointing to. He squinted, and then nodded slowly.

"Yes. One of them must be injured." Susan gave him a wary look.

"The Uruks?" He glanced away, pointedly not meeting her eyes.

"Uruk blood is darker." Susan paled slightly, and Peter grasped her shoulder.

"Ed's fine," He whispered. "They wouldn't drag a dead body around with them, would they?" He directed that last part at Aragorn and Legolas. The elf and human exchanged brief, tense looks.

"They wouldn't." Aragorn assured Susan quietly. And that was true- the Uruks wouldn't bother dragging a dead body around with them.

They'd eat it.

But that was a detail that Susan didn't need to hear right then.

* * *

Not long after their discovery, the five reached a wide plain filled with hills and rocks. "Rohan," Aragorn said. "Home of the Horse-lords." He paused. "Do you feel that? There is a strange, foul force at work here. Some evil gives these Uruk-Hai speed; pits them against us."

Legolas hopped onto a particularly tall hill and gazed out over the hills. "Legolas! What do your Elf-eyes see?" Legolas hesitated before answering.

"The Uruks turn northeast. They are taking them to Isengard!"

"To Saruman?" Susan whispered. Aragorn nodded solemnly, then turned to the two oldest Pevensie children.

"I promise you both, here and now: They will never reach Saruman." Peter nodded, not entirely listening. He had never seen Saruman or Isengard, so he didn't know what Edmund, Boromir, Merry and Pippin were in for- but he did remember that voice on Caradhras right before they'd nearly been crushed in snow.

They had to find them. Fast.

* * *

The plain were considerably easier to navigate than the previous landscape- many hills, few cliffs, and the hills weren't half as steep and rocky. However, they did have to rest eventually; Determination would only drive them so far before they collapsed from exhaustion. One night, they rested for a few hours. Susan, Gimli and Legolas slept (the last, notably, with his eyes wide open), but Peter and Aragorn remained awake.

"You should sleep," Aragorn said quietly, smoking his pipe.

"So should you." Peter's eyes were fixed on the Plains of Rohan.

"I meant what I said. I won't let Saruman have your brother." Peter nodded in the same, numb way that Susan had a few days ago. Then, he let out a soft chuckle.

"I hate this. It's such a cliché lesson- I argue with Ed constantly, treat him like a baby, make him so angry at me, call him a brat… And now I might never see him again. You know what the last thing we said to each other was? "Shut up." That's the last thing I said to my little brother." His voice cracked, and he tilted his head down, biting his lip. "I might never see him again."

Aragorn moved over to sit next to the boy. "You will."

"Dead, maybe."

"Don't say that."

"Why not?" Peter gave Aragorn a withering look. "This isn't a story. This isn't a fairytale, where everything works out all right in the end. This is reality- This is facing the fact that my brother is probably going to die."

"How can you hope to keep Susan going if you have no hope of your own?" Aragorn whispered.

"She doesn't have any as it is," Peter shook his head. "Nothing I say convinces her." Aragorn shook his head as well.

"Peter, I have seen people without hope before. You and your sister would not be on your feet right now if you did not have hope that Edmund was alive. If you had no hope whatsoever, you wouldn't even bother to try. Whether you know it or not, there is some small, clinging light in you that believes that Edmund is alive and waiting for you to help him." Peter was silent.

"You think so?" He whispered. Aragorn nodded.

"I know so. He's waiting for you two to come and get him, Peter. And he's just as eager to see you as you and Susan are to see him."


	20. Escape to Fangorn Forest

Not so far off, the Uruks had reached their limits as well. "We're not going no further 'til we've had something to eat!" One snarled as many collapsed to the ground, growling happily at the idea of food and rest. They were still on the plains, but on the edge of a dense forest.

"Get a fire going!" The leader barked. Merry, Pippin and Edmund were all unceremoniously flung to the ground, Boromir shoved down with them.

"Are you all right?" Edmund asked. Boromir was incredibly pale, and his wounds had stopped bleeding considerably. Edmund wasn't a doctor, but he had a feeling that that wasn't a good thing.

"I… I'm… I'm fine… Edmund…" The Gondorian murmured, wincing as he shifted into a more comfortable position. "S-Sorry… But they… They bound my wrists… I'll have to wait to… To fix your arm…" Edmund nodded.

"Of course. Just focus on getting better." He murmured. Boromir's eyes slipped shut, and his head fell against the ground. For one, alarming moment, Edmund thought he'd died. But then he saw the slight rise and fall of the man's chest and relaxed. A few feet away, Pippin was wriggling towards Merry.

"Merry!" He reached his cousin, and Edmund heard Merry whisper something._ He's all right, then,_ Edmund thought with a sigh of relief. _Good. None of us are dead yet. _He gazed out at the barren plains. The sight of his friends- the sight of Peter, Susan and Lucy- would definitely be welcome.

And to think the last thing he'd said to Peter was "Shut up".

The Uruks and few Orcs hacked away at the trees on the edge of the forest for firewood. And as they did, some odd noises echoed…

"What's making that noise?" Pippin whispered.

"It sounds like groaning," Edmund muttered back. "It's not the Uruk-Hai, is it?" Merry stared at the forest for a moment, and then clarity shone in his eyes.

"It's the trees." He said, looking awed. Edmund and Pippin exchanged careful, worried looks.

"Merry," Edmund said slowly. "Take a little nap. I think you hit your head a little too hard." Merry shook his head.

"No, no- I don't expect you to know, Edmund, but Pip- do you remember the Old Forest on the borders of Buckland? Folks used to say that there was something in the water that made the trees grow tall… and come _alive_."

"This world is bloody _weird_," Edmund whispered savagely. "Goblins, Elves, Dwarves, Wizards and now bloody-talking-_trees_…"

"They said the trees could whisper… Talk to each other… Even _move._" Merry went on, ignoring Edmund's quiet outburst.

"What in the hell would trees talk about, anyway? Whatever type of bark is in the latest fashion?"

Nearby, an Uruk sniffed. "I'm starving. We ain't had nothing but maggoty bread for three stinking days!" He threw down a loaf of said bread into the dirt, and Edmund tried to choke back a gag when he saw that there were, indeed, maggots wiggling in the dark and moldy bread.

"Yeah!" One of the Orcs agreed. "Why can't we have some meat?" He gazed around with reddened irises, and then, to Edmund's dread, they landed on him, Boromir and the Hobbits. "What about them?" The Orc asked, licking his lips. "They're _fresh_."

"_They_ are _not_ for _eating_," The Uruk leader snarled in a warning tone. But the Orc leader disagreed.

"What about their legs?" He asked. They don't need _those_."

"I beg to differ," Edmund muttered, tucking his legs in as closely to his body as he could. The Orc leader moved in, intending to sample their flesh, when the Uruk-Hai leader shoved him back. He may have been the one that kidnapped them and forced Merry to drink blood, but at that moment he was Edmund's favorite Uruk in the group.

"Get back, scum!" The Orc stumbled into his fellows, hissing angrily. "The prisoners go to Saruman, alive and unspoiled!" The Orc leader cocked his head, leaning to the side to get a better look at the four prisoners behind the Uruk.

"Alive? Why alive? Do they give good sport?"

"They have something. An Elvish weapon. The master wants it for the war." Unbeknownst to all, as the two leaders talked, one very hungry Orc was creeping behind them through the ranks, approaching the Hobbits and Humans from behind.

"They think we have the Ring," Pippin whispered shakily.

"And as soon as they find out we _don't,_ we're dead, so _shhh__!_" Merry hissed. Just then, Edmund barked out a warning-

"Look out!"

"A mouthful- Just a bit off the flank!" The Orc jeered, raising his sword at Edmund. The dark haired boy attempted to scurry out of the way, but a ripping pain in his dislocated shoulder froze him on the ground. Before the Orc could land the blow, however, there was another blur of movement, and a splash of dark blood landed across Edmund's shirt.

"Edmund!" Boromir was awake after all. Painfully, slowly, he forced himself to his knees. It seemed he intended on defending Edmund, but what he could do severely injured and bound at the wrists remained to be seen.

The Orc fell to the ground, dead. Edmund kicked the body away from him as the Uruks all cheered. "Look's like meat's back on the menu, boys!" The leader yelled, blood dripping from his sword. The four hostages were shoved aside as the Uruks and even the Orcs feasted on the flesh of the dead Orc. Edmund felt nauseous, and quite certain that he would pass out.

"Pippin, Edmund, Boromir! Let's go!" Merry hissed. Their captors were too preoccupied with their meal to see that their captives were planning on wriggling away.

"Boromir, can you move?" Edmund asked, carefully nudging the man with his good elbow. Boromir's response was slow, sluggish.

"I… Suppose…" Forcing himself up again, Edmund realized that he was truly on his last reserves of energy. He was driven purely by willpower. The four of them started to crawl away, propelling themselves forward with their legs and bounds wrists (this action was just about killing Edmund). Just then, as they began to think that they would get away, Merry gasped.

"Go on," Hissed the Orc leader, his foot on Merry's back. "Call for help. _Squeal_." He reached over and gripped Pippin's chin in his hand. "No one's gonna help you now-"

_CRUNCH._

Something large and sharp slammed into the Orc's back, and he threw his head back, mouth wide-open in shock. He fell, writhing, to the side. The Uruks and remaining Orcs jumped up, screeching in confusion and anger. Edmund heard hooves- Horses! Aragorn and the others!

No, wait- _Not_ Aragorn and the others. A large selection of men on horses, all of which were in heavy armor with weapons. They were attacking the Uruk-Hai band! Unfortunately, being bound and on the ground in the dead of night during a vicious battle was not a good thing- Edmund realized that they had to go through with Merry's plan simply to avoid being crushed!

Pippin was a prime example of this; He screamed in terror and quickly rolled out of the way as a large horse almost stomped on his head. He crawled away frantically, looking for something, anything-

Bingo!

"Edmund! Boromir! Merry!" He'd found a discarded Uruk blade. Pippin quickly set about cutting his bonds, rubbing the ropes frantically along the sharpened edge of the blade. When he had, Edmund went to try next- but the motion of moving his arms back and forth to cut the rope was too much, and his shoulder screamed its protest.

"Let… Me…" Boromir's attempt at cutting his bonds was a little slow and messy, but he got it done, and a moment later he managed to undo Edmund's. Nearby, Pippin freed Merry.

"Let's get out of here before we're trampled!" Merry gasped. Edmund, without even asking or having to be asked, took Boromir's arm and swung it over his shoulders. He helped the older man hobble through the chaos, following Merry and Pippin as quickly as possible. They dodged horses and falling bodies as swiftly as they could.

"Ah!" Merry cried out suddenly. It was the Orc leader- he was still clinging to life, and To Merry's belt.

"Lose the belt!" Edmund yelled, kicking at the dying Orc. Merry quickly undid it, and the Orc leader fell back, clutching the belt. He threw it down with a snarl, however, and set about crawling after them, snarling death threats all the way. "Run!"

They ran/hobbled into the forest, sliding under the branches and the cover of the foliage. The ground was uneven, filled with gigantic roots and rocks, the latter of which were covered almost entirely with moss. "Slow down!" Edmund gasped, nearly dropping Boromir when his bad arm was jerked again. Merry and Pippin flung themselves to the ground, at the base of a large tree.

"Did we lose him?" Pippin gasped.

"I think so," Edmund said, glancing around. "I don't think he could walk, at any rate." Just then, who came hobbling through a patch of bushes but the Orc leader? "Of course," Edmund muttered, "I've been wrong before." Carefully, he set Boromir down to the side of the tree and drew his sword with his good arm.

"Come here, boy! I'LL RIP OUT YOUR INNARDS!" The Orc screeched, charging forward, rusty sword held high. Edmund took a swing at him, but he blocked it and shoved back, sending the boy tumbling. Edmund fell back, his head hitting a root and dazing him. The Hobbits, halfway up the tree, gasped.

"Edmund!" The Orc snarled at them, dodging forward and grabbing Merry's ankle. With one sharp tug, he yanked the Hobbit from the tree and sent him sprawling in the dirt. Pippin was up high, Edmund was stunned and Boromir was too out of it- Merry was on his own with this one. He kicked the Orc leader in the face; however, this only served to make him angry.

Growling, he turned back to the Hobbit, raising his sword. "Merry!" Pippin cried from high up. There was a slight pause, and then, through the haze, Edmund heard Pippin cry out again. He assumed that Merry was in deep trouble, and tried to regain enough of his senses to do something about it.

"Let's put a maggot hole in your belly!" The Orc hissed, preparing to kill Merry.

"No!" Edmund tried to force himself up.

_CRASH_.

Silence. Total silence. Pippin was not screaming, Merry was not screaming- What in the hell had happened now?

"RUN! RUN MERRY!"

_BOOM. _

_BOOM. _

_BOOM._

"AGH!" Followed by this were the sounds of Merry and Pippin struggling. The last time Edmund had heard booming noises of that caliber, it ended in Gandalf getting killed. These weren't quite as loud as the Balrog's, however- they, more or less, were as loud as the Cave Troll's steps. Edmund finally managed to get to his feet. He looked around… Then up.

"Oh… God…"

Merry and Pippin were in the clutches of a _tree_. So Merry hadn't gotten hit too badly on the head after all… The tree examined them for a few long, drawn-out seconds. Then, in a deep, low, rumbling voice, it said, "Little… _Orcs_… _hmmmhmmm_…"

"It's talking," Pippin said, shocked. "The tree is _talking_-"

"_Tree?_" The tree- Er, _not_ tree- harrumphed. "I am… _hmmmhmmm_… No tree!" He began to move, his steps slower this time. Edmund, never taking his eyes from the tree- _not_ tree- sheathed his sword shakily and went to gather Boromir. "I… _hmmmhmmm_… Am an Ent!"

"A tree-herder," Merry said automatically. "A shepherd of the forest!"

"No, Merry," Edmund hissed, dragging Boromir along after the Ent. "He's lying. He's actually a sheep-herder. Would you care to explain what exactly a tree-herder _does?_"

"They keep the forest in line."

"Funny- Where I come from, trees manage that just fine on their own."

"Don't talk to it, you two!" Pippin hissed. "Don't encourage it!"

"Treebeard, some call me… _hmmmhmmm_…" The Ent said, ignoring their banter.

"A-And whose side are you on?" Pippin asked shakily.

"…Side..? _Hmmmhmmm_… I am on… Nobody's side… _hmmmhmmm…_ Because, nobody is on… _hmmmhmmm_… _My _side… Little Orc…" He sighed a deep, thundering sigh as Edmund winced and gasped as his stumbled over the roots, trying to keep up while still supporting Boromir (Now totally unconscious). "Nobody cares for the woods… _hmmmhmmm_… Anymore…"

"We're not Orcs! We're Hobbits! Shirefolk! And they're humans!" Merry said, nodding to Edmund and Boromir.

"_Hmmmhmmm…_ Men, I know of… Hobbits… _hmmmhmmm_… I have never heard of Hobbits before… _hmmmhmmm_… Sounds like Orc mischief to me!" He let out a soft grunt and went on. "They come with… _hmmmhmmm_… Fire… They come with axes… Gnawing, biting… _hmmmhmmm_… Hacking, burning! Destroyers and usurpers, curse them!"

"No! They're not Orcs! And _neither are we!_" Edmund protested. "We're humans! Would humans be traveling with Orcs?"

"_Hmmmhmmm_… You present a good point… But… _hmmmhmmm_… Not all men are good… _hmmmhmmm_… Maybe you are… And maybe you aren't… _hmmmhmmm_… The White Wizard will know…"

Pippin was frozen. "The… White Wizard?"

"Saruman!" Edmund gasped. "No!" Suddenly, Treebeard dropped Merry and Pippin to the ground (Graciously lowering his hands a good few feet before doing so) Edmund came to a stop.  
And there stood the White Wizard.


	21. The Riders of Rohan

Just so you all know, I've finished typing up all the chapters for "The Two Towers" section of this story. So if I stop updating suddenly, send me a slew of reviews asking me what the hell is wrong with me. All right?

* * *

"A red sun rises," Legolas whispered, eyes wide and sad. "Blood has been spilled this past night." Susan looked ill, but Gimli snorted.

"More cockamamie Elvish logic. Pay no mind to it, lass," He said to Susan. "They're full of it." Legolas shot Gimli the briefest of dry looks before running after Aragorn and Peter. The former of the two crouched down to examine a patch of grass, and then, abruptly, jerked his head to the side. He was silent and still for a moment, like a deer who'd just sensed a hunter in the bushes.

Suddenly, Aragorn motioned for them to get up and behind one of the enormous, massive rocks that peppered the Rohan land. "Do you hear that?" Susan whispered. Peter paused- then nodded quickly. Someone- Something- was coming. Quickly. The ground rumbled. Pebbles bounced wildly on the solid earth. A moment later, a large group of men (soldiers, they appeared to be) on horses charged up and over the hill, most of them holding spears high in the air. They galloped by the Fellowship's hiding place without seeing them at all.

But that wouldn't last. Once the last rider had gone by, Aragorn slid off the rock and out onto the field. "Riders of Rohan! What news from the Mark?" He trumpeted. The leader of the column turned his spear to the side, signaling for the column to turn around. Susan and Peter exchanged looks.

"Think they're friendly?" Susan muttered weakly.

"I really hope so…" Peter muttered, sliding down after Aragorn. Their group joined Aragorn, and it only took a minute or two for the column to rotate and come back around. They immediately surrounded the travelers, quickly blocking off any escape routes. They formed a tight circle and directed their spears at the Fellowship menacingly. Aragorn held up his hands in a placating manner. Peter followed suit.

"This answer your question, Su?" He muttered out of the corner of his mouth. The leader of the riders slipped into the inner circle to face them.

"What business," He said with the air of a ruler, "Does a man, an elf, a dwarf and two children have in the Riddermark?"

"We're not- OW!" Peter barked as Susan stomped on his foot. She knew her brother well, knew that the next words out of his mouth would be "children", and this man didn't seem like one that would put up with any back-sassing.

"Give me your name, horse-master, and I shall give you mine," Gimli said challengingly, glaring at the rider. Of course: when Peter wasn't saying something unwise, Gimli was. Aragorn rolled his eyes, though he was still tense. Gimli really needed to work on his people skills…

The rider glared at Gimli for a moment, irked. Then, handing his spear to another soldier, he dismounted his horse and approached Gimli, anger in his eyes. He reminded Susan of both Peter and Edmund: Easily upset at the slightest of things. Aragorn warily put a hand on Gimli's shoulder.

"I would cut off your head, _Dwarf_," The Rider growled. "If it stood but a little higher from the ground."

"You would die before your stroke fell!" Legolas had whipped out an arrow and pointed it at the rider's face. Susan quickly followed suit, and they instantly had every spear present pushed into their faces. It was a lucky chance that had Susan in a better mood here than in Lothlorien- Had she pushed a spear away here, she might've been killed.

"Legolas! Susan!" Aragorn pushed down their arrows. Legolas lowered his reluctantly, still piercing the leader with his eyes. Susan, however, kept her arrow nocked, making it clear that she had no intention of putting it away and regarding the rider warily. When it had reached a relative level of calm again, Aragorn returned his attention to the leader of the riders. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Gimli, son of Gloin, Legolas of the Woodland Realm, and Peter and Susan Pevensie."

The rider regarded the five of them warily. "We are friends of Rohan. And of Théoden, your king." Here, the rider's face relaxed slightly. After a moment of silent contemplation, he said,

"Théoden no longer recognizes friend from foe." He then reached up and removed his helmet, revealing a handsome face framed in long, brown-blonde hair. "Not even his own kin." It seemed that the removal of his helmet had been a signal to the others that all was well, and they all lowered their spears. While he did not seem angry with them anymore, he did not seem happy, either. "Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king," He explained. "And claimed lordship over these lands. My company are those loyal to Rohan- the _true_ Rohan. For that, we are banished."

"Is Saruman in Rohan now?" Peter asked. The rider shook his head.

"The White Wizard is cunning, boy. He walks here and there, they say, as an old man hooded and cloaked. And everywhere, his spies slip past our nets."

"If he isn't in Rohan, then how did he get to King Théoden?" Susan asked.

"By way of his servant, a snake we call Gríma Wormtongue." His eyes narrowed further. "Beware, should you ever encounter him- he will ensnare you and bend you to his will. Saruman's will."

"We are no spies," Aragorn said. "We track a party of Uruk-Hai westward across the plain. They've taken four of our friends captive." A flash of recognition flashed across the leader's face.

"The Uruks are destroyed. We slaughtered them in the night."

"But there were Hobbits! Two Hobbits and two humans- Did you see them?"

"The Hobbits would be small- Children to your eyes. One of the humans was a fully grown man, Boromir of Gondor."

"The other human was our brother, Edmund. He's eleven- short, with dark hair and eyes," Susan's voice was shaky and desperate, and Peter believed she was close to tears. "He might have been hurt. Did you see him?" The rider met her eyes for one long, foreboding moment, and then found that he could not look her in the eyes.

"… We left none alive." Susan let out a soft, sharp cry and covered her mouth. Peter lost all the color in his face. The rider, though hardened, seemed unable to look at the brother and sister. He turned and pointed off towards a plume of white smoke in the near distance. "We piled the carcasses and burned them."

"Dead?" Gimli whispered. The rider nodded slowly.

"I am sorry." Susan buried her head into Peter's shoulder and let out a sob. Peter, shaking wildly, embraced Susan. She seemed to forget that there was anyone else there.

"Oh, God, what are we going to tell mum?" She moaned, her voice muffled. Peter felt tears gathering in his eyes, and he willed them not to fall. Not with all these people around. Their baby brother… _Dead_…

The rider whistled softly. "Hasufel! Arod!" Two horses, one white, one brown, came trotting up, fully arraigned in Rohan horse-armor, but lacking riders. "May these horses bear you to better fortune than their former masters." He nodded to Aragorn and replaced his helmet. "Farewell." He remounted his horse and retrieved his spear.

"Susan." Peter gently shook his sister and directed her towards Hasufel, the darker horse. "Come on. It's all right. It'll be all right." The leader caught a glimpse of Susan's tearstained face, then turned back to Aragorn.

"Look for your friends. But do not trust a hope." He took a deep breath. "It has forsaken these lands." He regained his composure, then turned back to the column. "We ride north!" He boomed. And, with him at the wheel the Riders of Rohan took off for whatever destination they were headed for.

* * *

Aragorn, Peter and Susan rode Hasufel, and Legolas and Gimli shared Arod. They rode off towards the pile, still smoldering from the fire. The head of an Uruk was visible, rammed onto a pike as a testament to the severity of the battle that had taken place. Susan, nauseated, couldn't look. She remained on Hasufel as Peter, Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas dismounted and examined the battleground.

Suddenly, Gimli came upon a grim sight. "Aye… It's one of their wee belts," He whispered, holding up the charred remains of either Merry or Pippin's belt. Susan let out another choked sob.

"What was _wrong_ with them?" She cried furiously. "You can't tell the difference between a child and an Uruk? They're seven feet tall, for pity's sake!" Legolas touched her arm.

"They were humans, and the battle was at night. It was so chaotic, they could not have told the difference."

"They burned the bodies," Peter said savagely, turning and glaring at Legolas. "When the battle was over and the chaos was done. When they had plenty of time to observe the _goddamn **DIFFERENCE!**_" He kicked over the pike with the Uruk's head on it just as Aragorn kicked a fallen Uruk's helmet and let out a roar of anger. "Why didn't they say anything? Why?"

"Think logically, Peter." Gimli grunted. "You and Susan looked horrified enough as it was. If you were in their position, would _you_ want to confirm that you burned their dead brother's body?" Peter felt sick to his stomach. This was _horrible_. This was his worst fears come true. Back home, his worst fear was that Edmund would get into some terrible trouble and Peter would take the blame, but now…

He remembered Susan's words clearly: "_Oh, God, what are we going to tell mum?_"

What indeed?

Aragorn, meanwhile, on his knees, seemed to be focused on something. "A Hobbit lay here," He muttered. "And the other." He passed his hands over the ground where the grass was compressed and disturbed. "And here, a boy and a man." Susan groaned and covered her eyes.

But suddenly, Aragorn seemed intent. "Their hands were bound. They crawled. The man did so with great difficulty. He was injured. Bleeding." His hand brushed across dried bloodstains in the grass. He turned to Peter and Susan. "It wasn't Edmund that was injured. He wasn't even bleeding, from what I can see."

"What does this prove? Or matter, even?" Peter muttered flatly.

"When a Ranger talks, you do well to pay attention," Legolas said. "Aragorn would not pursue this if he did not think it worthy of attention." Peter sighed, but then followed along at a stomp as Aragorn moved slowly across the grass. Susan urged Hasufel, holding Arod's reins and bringing him along. Aragorn stopped and knelt down, untangling something from the brush.

"Their bonds were cut." He said, sounding surprised at his own discovery. Susan's eyes widened, and she jumped off Hasufel, releasing the reins of the horses. Aragorn continued, standing and scanning the area with hawk eyes. "They ran over here. The man was in too poor of shape to walk entirely on his own, so the boy had to help him."

He stopped, examined a spot on the ground. "They were followed. They got away. They ran, and their tracks lead away from the battle!" Susan was smiling now.

"Edmund, Edmund, Edmund, damn you, I'm going to strangle you when I get a hold of you…" Peter whispered, though there was a wide grin on his face. They stopped before the line of trees.

"… And into Fangorn Forest." Aragorn finished. Suddenly, he didn't seem so happy anymore.

"Fangorn?" Gimli whispered. "What madness drove them in there?"

"A couple dozen Uruk-Hai and an army of Rohan men with night-blindness," Peter said flatly. "What are we waiting for? Let's go get them!"


	22. The March Through the Dead Marshes

In Emyn Muil, Sam, Frodo and Lucy were still following Gollum. The spindly, queasy little creature was leading them with a surprising vigor. Lucy was under the impression that, once one had entered Mordor, one was not in a hurry to return. Now, Lucy was a trustful little girl, but even she had her limits. Gollum made her nervous, and that didn't look like it would be changing any time soon.

"See? See? We've led you out! Hurry, Hobbitses, hurry! And girlses, too!"

… And that "we" thing was still really, really creepy.

"Very lucky we find you, yes, yes." Gollum giggled as Sam and Frodo went on ahead. Lucy, however, hesitated. Gollum grinned a semi-toothless grin at her and ushered her on enthusiastically. "Go on, girlses, go on! Must hurry, hurry, hurry!"

"Ah… Gollum…"

"Yes, nice girlses?" Gollum was all sugar and sweetness, and Lucy half-believed that it was a front.

"Ah… Well… Why were you in Mordor? Why did you go there?" Gollum's eyes widened sharply, and then he shrunk back from her.

"We… We had the _Precious_. We had the Precious, and we… We _lost _the Precious." His eyes narrowed, and his expression darkened so suddenly that Lucy was frightened and backed up a step. "It was _stolen_ from us, yes it was, _gollum, gollum_." He hacked sharply. "_He_ wanted it back, but it was _stolen_ from us, so he couldn't have it." Gollum said, a note of bitterness in his raspy voice. Lucy nodded slowly.

"And… You escaped?" Gollum shook his head.

"No, girlses… _He_ let us go…" Lucy's brow furrowed.

"Sauron just… Let you go?"

"Aye, Lucy! Hurry up! You too, Gollum!" Sam called. A pause, and then he cried out sharply. "It's a bog! He's led us into a swamp!" Gollum ran to the front of the line, carefully avoiding the putrid water. Lucy's nose wrinkled; it smelled worse than her brothers' laundry!

"A swamp, yes, yes! We takes you through safe paths through the mists. Come, come! We go quickly!" The marsh ground was squishy and soft, and it felt to be an unreliable walking-path; it felt as though you could sink through at any moment. As they walked (Stumbled, sank and nearly swam), Gollum continued to prattle on. "…Found it, we did. The way through the marshes. Orcses don't use it- Orcses don't know."

"Why not?" Lucy inquired.

"Too squishy…" Gollum hacked for a moment. "Orcses wear armor, and Orcses sink in the marsh and drown anyway. They go around for miles and miles. Come, quickly. Soft and quick as shadows, we must be."

* * *

"I hate this place. It's too quiet." Sam muttered. "There's been no sight nor sound of a bird for two days."

"No, no birdses to eat…" Gollum said sadly. "No crunchable birdses." Lucy and Frodo exchanged odd and disgusted looks. "Oh, we are famished, we are! Famished we are, Precious!" Suddenly, his face lit up. With a grunt, Gollum plunged his fist into the water… And pulled out a worm.

"Oh, he's not going to…" Lucy turned a little green.

"Yes, he is." Frodo mumbled as Gollum popped the worm into his mouth and swallowed it. Sam, who'd been about to take a bite of lembas, calmly lowered it back into the pack and swallowed hard. Frodo tore off a piece of his lembas bread and tossed it to Gollum. "Here."

Gollum's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "What- What does it eats? Is it tasty?" He inquired.

"It's lembas." Sam said flatly. To someone who'd been eating it for weeks straight, it was all the explanation needed. Gollum popped it into his mouth, chewed- then gagged and spit it back out.

"It's not that bad!" Lucy protested. "It's not so great when you've been eating it for weeks, but it's not horrible!" But Gollum ignored her.

"It tries to chokes us! We can't eats Hobbit food!"

"Actually, it's Elf food." Lucy said with a small smirk. Gollum threw his head back and wailed (For the two-hundredth time that week…).

"We must starve!" Sam, already on a short fuse, had little sympathy for the theatrics.

"Well starve, then, and good riddance!"

"Sam!" Lucy admonished, slapping his shoulder. "Be nice!" Gollum crawled towards them.

"Oh, cruel Hobbit! It does not care if we go hungry. Does not care if we should die." He stopped, and then slowly turned to Frodo and Lucy. "Not like master and girlses. They cares. And master knows." Frodo looked at Gollum uncertainly. "Yes… Precious…" Frodo reached up and felt the Ring through his shirt.

Gollum had something akin to sympathy in his eyes, and Lucy wondered if Gollum had always been… Well, _Gollum_. "Once it takes hold of us… It never lets go…" To Lucy's alarm, Gollum's hand reached, shakily, out towards Frodo's chest. Frodo snapped back to clear reality just in time to swat Gollum's hand away.

"Don't touch me!" He snapped. Gollum, shocked, sunk away, looking dejected. It seemed he hadn't really realized what he was doing as he'd done it. Still, though, Lucy realized that this was Frodo's greater reason for not trusting Gollum… And pitying him at the same time. It wasn't Gollum's fault that he was so drawn to the Ring- it was simply the effect the Ring had on its bearer. That frightened Lucy.

Gollum was scary, and clearly ill with his obsession with the Ring. So what was Frodo's fate to be?

* * *

As they traveled into the darker, foggier places of the swamp, Lucy observed small fires in select parts of the bog, lit on the moss and weedy grass. She studied one for a long, contemplative moment, until something else drew her eye- something in the water… It looked like… But it couldn't be…

Lucy shrieked.

"What!" Sam, Frodo and Gollum all jumped and whirled around. "Lucy? What is it?"

"There are dead people down there!" She screamed. Gollum looked panicked.

"Quiet, girlses, quiet! We must be quiet!" He urged her. "Mustn't make more noise than we haves to!"

"And this is coming from the one that screams every few hours?" Lucy cried. "The one that was screaming like the world was coming to an end in Emyn Muil?"

"Gollum, what _are_ those?" Frodo whispered, staring in horror at the blotchy blue faces that stared up from the water. Gollum hacked.

"All dead, all rotted. Elves and Men and Orcses. A great battle, long ago. The Dead Marshes- that is their name."

"You could have mentioned that before!" Lucy pressed, taking Frodo's arm and making it a point to stay near him. "A small warning about the dead bodies would have been nice."

"They's not dangerous, _gollum, gollum._ As long as you don't follow the lights. This way, this way…" Sam stumbled, his foot landing into the water. Gollum whipped around and gave them a stern look. "Careful now! Or Hobbits and girlses go down to join the dead ones and light little candles of their own!"

Lucy released Frodo's arm to help Sam out of the water. "It's disgusting," Sam muttered as Lucy helped him out. "I don't even want to know what's swimming down there. All sorts of nasty things- Bogs are bad enough without dead bodies everywhere in them." Sam brushed some oddly colored grass off his pant leg. "I suppose they're not so bad if you don't think about them." Lucy nodded vaguely.

"All the same, I don't like them, and I don't want to be around them. Right Fro- FRODO!"

**_SPLASH._**

Frodo went crashing into the water, right over one of the bodies. Lucy screamed again. "_The dead man has Frodo! The dead man has Frodo!_" Gollum quickly charged over, leaned down, grabbed Frodo by the back of his jacket and yanked him out of the water. The Hobbit gasped and panted wildly, choking on the water.

Gollum glared at him.

"Don't. Follow. The lights." Gollum hissed.

* * *

The night, the mist dissipated enough for the darkness of the night sky to really cast down. They could hear thunder in the distance, and Lucy could see the red cloud over Mordor as clear as day. She tried to sleep, but the slight whispers of the conversation between Gollum and Frodo kept her on the edge of consciousness. She didn't bother listening- she was trying to break her eavesdropping habit.

She wondered what Peter, Susan, Edmund and the others were doing. It was apparent that she, Frodo and Sam (All right, and Gollum) would be making the journey alone to Mordor, so what was the rest of the Fellowship doing? Maybe they were trying to stop that other bad guy. What was his name? It sounded like Sauron, she remembered that much.

Well, wherever they were, a few things were certain: Edmund and Peter were bickering, Susan was getting ready to kill them both, Aragorn was leading everybody, Merry was smoking and Pippin was hungry. She smiled. She couldn't wait to-

_!_

An ear-splitting shriek rent the air; one that was all too familiar to Lucy, Frodo and Sam. "Black Riders!" Sam shouted. Frodo let out a cry and clutched at his shoulder, where he'd been stabbed by the Black Rider on Weathertop. He went incredibly pale, and seemed to be incapable of movement.

"Come on Frodo! Please!" Lucy gasped. "We have to hide!" She and Sam managed to usher him over to a bush as Gollum panicked wildly nearby. "Quickly! Quickly! They will see us, they will _see us!_"

"I thought they were dead- Aragorn set them all on fire on Weathertop!"

"When?"

"When we were traveling to Rivendell, you were a day behind us."

"Dead?" Gollum whispered solemnly. "You cannot kill them, no." The Ring Wraith shrieked again, and Lucy plugged her ears, wincing in pain.

"Oh my," She whispered, looking up through the branches of the bush. "What is _that_?" Above them was a large, evil-looking flying serpent- on its back sat the Ring Wraith, riding it like a horse. The two swooped in dangerously close to their hiding spot, and for one horrible moment, Lucy thought that maybe it had seen them. But then it swooped back into the air as swiftly as it had descended, taking off towards Mordor.

"They call for the Precious!" Gollum gasped. "They scream for it!" Frodo began to convulse again, and Sam grabbed his hand.

"Don't worry, Mr. Frodo. We're here. Lucy followed suit and grabbed Frodo's other hand. Once the Wraith was a safe distance away, Gollum relaxed.

"Come, come- the Black Gate is very close."


	23. An Old Friend in the Forest of Fangorn

Gimli swiped a finger across the dark liquid on the tree leaves, then touching it to his tongue. "Oh, Gimli, that's so unsanitary…" Susan murmured, grimacing as he spat it back out.

"Orc blood." He grunted. Peter cocked an eyebrow at this.

"So, can we assume you're in the habit of tasting Orc blood, then?" He asked. Gimli gave the boy a withering look.

"Don't test your luck with me in a forest, lad," The dwarf warned. "I am in my element in caves. This is the land of the pointy-ear over there." He jerked his thumb at Legolas, who smirked slightly. "The air is so close in here. I don't understand it." Legolas shrugged.

"This forest is old." His eyes narrowed in what appeared to be confusion. "Very old. Older than I am." Susan cocked her head.

"And how old are you, Legolas?"

"2931 years." Peter let out something resembling a sharp cough.

"Just… Rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?" He gasped. Legolas smirked again.

"It's a little young, for my kind."

"Then what does _old_ constitute as?"

_Guuuuuurrrrnn…_

Something groaned and creaked, startling Gimli into drawing his axe, and Peter his sword. Legolas held out a hand. "Relax," He said softly, gazing at the trees around them in awe. "It's just the trees. They're speaking to one another."

"Gimli!" Aragorn hissed. "Lower your axe! And Peter- Your sword!" Gimli and Peter did so- very, very slowly. Legolas gave them both somber looks.

"They have feelings, my friends." He looked around. "The Elves began it. Waking up the trees, teaching them to speak."

"Elves have had a hand in all the goings-on of Middle Earth, haven't they?" Susan whispered, watching the trees sway with no apparent breeze. Legolas nodded.

"We are the first born. The first to come to this world." Gimli, however, was in no mood to discuss Elves and their antics with nature.

"Talking trees," He huffed. "What do trees have to talk about? Other than the consistency of squirrel-droppings?" There was a groan from a tree nearby.

"Gimli- _Stop making them angry_." Peter hissed. Nearby, Legolas froze. His eyes were set on a fixed point in the distance.

"Aragorn, _nad no ennas._" He moved forward sharply, and his tone was urgent.

"What? What is it?" Peter asked, pulling his sword back out. Aragorn followed Legolas, whispering something in Elvish. Legolas hesitated, and then said,

"The White Wizard approaches." He sounded grimly pleased. A cold breeze swept through the forest. Gimli hefted his axe. Peter tightened his grip on his sword. Susan carefully pulled her bow. Aragorn did nothing, keeping his expression and body lax.

"Do not let him speak," He murmured softly. "He will put a spell on us." He withdrew his sword a bare inch or two from its scabbard. Legolas and Susan both subtly nocked arrows, readying them on the bows. "We must be quick."

Five, four, three, two, one-

Aragorn whipped around, tearing his sword from its scabbard completely. The others wheeled about to face a sudden, glowing light coming straight at them! It was blinding, but Peter and Susan could just barely make out the figure of a man in white. _Saruman_. Gimli let out a roar and hurled an axe at him, but Saruman deflected it with his staff, destroying it on impact.

Legolas and Susan released their arrows, but he deflected those as well. Aragorn and Peter cried out almost simultaneously, for their swords had become red-hot in their hands, and they were forced to drop them to the ground. Blinded by the light and now virtually unarmed, the five members of the Fellowship shielded their eyes and faced Saruman.

"**_You are tracking the footsteps of two young Hobbits and two humans_**_,_" It said in the same voice they'd heard on Caradhras.

"Where are they? What have you done to them?" Peter yelled. He went to pick up his sword, but it was still too hot.

"**_They passed this way just the day before yesterday_,**" Saruman said in a deceitfully amiable tone.

"If you've done anything to Edmund, I'll make you live to regret it!" Susan hissed, nocking another arrow. Saruman chuckled.

"**_They met someone they did not expect. _**_Doesthat comfort you?_"

"Very little!" Gimli snarled. But Peter and Aragorn were frozen; Saruman's voice… It had changed… It had changed into something oddly… _Familiar…_

"Who are you? Show yourself!" Aragorn cried. The blinding light faded away. And there stood not Saruman…

… But Gandalf.

The five were stunned. None could form proper words before Aragorn. "It cannot be…" He whispered. Legolas looked shocked and horrified.

"Forgive me," He gasped. "I mistook you for Saruman." He and Gimli both bowed their heads. Gandalf nodded slowly.

"I _am_ Saruman. Or rather, Saruman as he should have been." He gave a slight smile. But Aragorn was still in shock.

"You fell…" He said. Gandalf nodded again.

"Yes. Through fire. And water. From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, I fought with the Balrog of Morgoth. Until at last I threw down my enemy, and smote his ruin upon the mountainside. Darkness took me… And I strayed out of thought and time. Stars wheeled overheard, and every day was as long as a life age of the Earth. But it was not the end. I felt life in me again. I've been sent back until my task is done."

Aragorn, at last, managed a smile. "Welcome back, friend."

"Gandalf!" Susan and Peter ran up and hugged Gandalf tightly. The White Wizard laughed.

"Gandalf!" He said. "Ah, yes, that is what they called me. Gandalf the Grey." He smiled. "I am Gandalf the White. And I come to you now at the turn of the tide."

* * *

"One stage of your journey is over. Another begins. We must travel to Edoras with all speed." Gandalf said.

"Edoras?" Peter asked.

"'Tis home of the horse-lords, lad- Home of the men we met not so long ago! But that is no short distance, Gandalf."

"We hear of trouble in Rohan. It goes ill with the king." Aragorn explained.

"The rider said that Saruman's taken his mind." Susan added. Gandalf nodded solemnly.

"It is true. And he shall not be easily cured."

"So we have run all this way for nothing?" Gimli snapped. Are we to leave our poor friends here, in this horrid, dark, dank, tree-infested-?" Suddenly, the trees began to growl. Loudly. "Ah… Ha ha, I mean, charming! Quite charming forest!" Susan shook her head.

"You couldn't have waited until we left the forest to make a tree remark, Gimli?"

"Because I don't want to get crushed by a tree that _you_ got angry," Peter said, regarding the tall, menacing trees warily.

"It was more than pure chance that bought Merry, Pippin, Boromir and Edmund to Fangorn. A great power has been sleeping here for many long years. The coming of those four will be like the falling of small stones that start an avalanche in the mountains. Aragorn smirked.

"In one thing you have not changed, dear friend." He chuckled.

"Oh?"

"You still speak in riddles." They laughed. And Gandalf smiled up at the trees.

"A thing is about to happen that has not happened since the Elder Days. The Ents are going to wake up… And find that they are strong."

"Strong?" Gimli asked, sounding worried. A slight growl overhead made him shiver. "Oh. That's good."

"So stop your fretting, Master Dwarf." Gandalf said as he continued down the path. "The others are quite safe. In fact, they are much safer than you are about to be!" Gimli grunted quietly.

"This Gandalf's more grumpy than the old one," He muttered to Susan and Peter.

The horses, Hasufel and Arod, had both flat-out refused to set a hoof in Fangorn, so they had left them on the edge. Perhaps it was the creaking of the forest, perhaps it was the smell of the smoldering Uruk carcasses, but apparently they hadn't been inclined to stick around and wait for their riders to return where they'd left them. They found the two stomping nervously several yards off, and it took Legolas' naturally good way with animals to calm them down.

When they had returned to a state of relative peace, Gandalf put his lips together and let out a long, melodic whistle that echoed over the plain. After a moment, from far off, they saw another horse approaching. "That is one of the Mearas, unless my eyes deceive me." Legolas whispered in awe.

"Mearas?" Peter said.

"Horse lords, only in the literal sense." The horse approached Gandalf as though approaching an old friend, tossing his head playfully at the wizard and allowing him to stroke his mane.

"Shadowfax," Gandalf said with a smile. "Lord of all horses. He has been my friend through many dangers."

They took off for Meduseld, the Golden Hall of Rohan in Edoras.


	24. Treebeard's Songs and the Black Gate

"O rowan mine… _hmmmhmmm_… I saw you _shine_… Upon a summer's day… _hmmmhmmm_… Upon your head… How golden red… _hmmmhmmm_… The crown you bore aloft… _hmmmhmmm_… Such a beautiful verse."

Edmund's head rested on his good arm, praying that the pain would become too much for him to handle and that he'd black out. Dear God, this was worse than listening to one of Susan's lectures!

Boromir was passed out, still, in the crook of Treebeard's… Arm. Yes. We'll call it an arm. Gandalf had healed many of his graver injuries, but he'd lost a lot of blood, and would require more rest. Edmund- _Stupid, stupid!_ He thought- had been so shocked, he'd forgotten to mention his own arm to Gandalf, and the Wizard had left. Stupidly, he realized that the error would mean a more painful method of treatment was still in store.

Merry, Pippin and Edmund were perched on his… Shoulders… And an odd branch that stuck off his back and head. From the way Pippin jumped a moment before, Edmund suspected that the Hobbits were as enthralled by this poetry session as he was. Poetry was bad enough for Edmund, but with _Treebeard_ reciting it…

"Is it much farther?" Merry asked it what he hoped was not a desperate voice.

"_Bru-ha-hroom__._ Don't be hasty… You might call it far, perhaps… _hmmmhmmm_… My home lies deep within the forest… Near the roots of the mountain… _hmmmhmmm_… I told Gandalf that I would keep you safe… _hmmmhmmm_… And so, safe is where I shall… Keep you… _hmmmhmmm_… I believe that you will enjoy this next one too… _hmmmhmmm…_ It's one of my own compositions… _hmmmhmmm_… Beneath the roof of sleeping… _hmmmhmmm…_ Leaves… And the dreams of trees unfold... When woodland halls are green and cool… _hmmmhmmm_… And the wind is in the West…Come back to me… Come back to me… _hmmmhmmm_… And say my land is best."

Treebeard glanced at the Hobbits and the humans. They were all asleep. When they arrived at his home later that evening, he carefully placed them onto the soft dirt floor of the forest. "Sleep little Shirelings, and little humans… _hmmmhmmm…_ Heed no nightly noise… Sleep till morning light… _hmmmhmmm_… I have business in the forest… There are many to call… Many that must come… _hmmmhmmm_… The Shadow lies on Fangorn… The withering of all woods is drawing near…"

* * *

The climb to the Black Gates was a difficult one. Pure climbing up sharp, steep rocks until they reached a high ledge. "Oh, save us," Sam whispered, shaking slightly. He, Frodo and Lucy crouched near the edge of the ledge. "My old Gaffer would have a thing or two to say if he could see us now."

Gollum- No, actually, Sméagol now (Lucy learned that it was Gollum's proper name)- hopped up next to them. "Master says to show him the way into Mordor," He said. "So good Sméagol does, master says so."

"I did…" Frodo muttered faintly, nodding. The Black Gate was a vicious looking thing; made of jagged, rough black metal that was patrolled by Orcs and Cave trolls. Lucy could only imagine what was on the other side.

"How are we going to get past all of them?" She asked, pointing to the guards on top of the gate. Just then, a column of men in odd armor passed below, marching in time towards the Black Gate. The four of them on the ledge hunched down to remain unseen. A horn blew loudly, and the trolls on the bridge pulled large levers and wheels to crank the gates open.

"It's opening!" Sam gasped, moving over to the other side of the ledge. "Hey, I think I see a way d-_ahhhh__!_"

"Sam!" Frodo and Lucy cried. Sam had accidentally leaned on an unstable piece of the ledge, resulting in the foundation crumbling away and sending Sam flying down the side of the sandy wall! "Lucy, stay here!" Frodo slid down the slope after Sam, leaving Lucy behind with Sméagol.

Lucy gasped. Two of the soldiers from the passing troops- they'd broken rank, and they were going over to see what the slight rockslide had been caused by. "Frodo!" She gasped. "_Frodo!_" Oh, Frodo saw the soldiers all right. Once he reached Sam (who was waist-deep in soot and gravel), he tried frantically to tug his friend out of the gravel before they could be seen.

"Get down, girlses, get down! They will see us! They will see us!" Sméagol cried, yanking Lucy away from the edge and completely taking away her view of Sam and Frodo.

"But they'll be seen! We have to do something!" She protested.

"They will kills us if they sees us! Kills us, Precious!" Sméagol held her back, and Lucy squeezed her eyes shut, dreading the sounds they were bound to hear when the soldiers discovered Sam and Frodo.

But none came. Confused, Lucy stuck her head over the edge of the ledge as far as she dared. Below were the two soldiers, scanning the area suspiciously…

But where were Frodo and Sam?

After one long, tense minute, the soldiers turned and marched back to the line, falling in behind their comrades. Lucy poked her head back over the ledge. "Frodo? Sam?" She called softly, confused. Just then, one of the rocks down below twitched. Lucy stared. A moment later, the "rock" was pushed away, revealing Sam and Frodo! Frodo had drawn his cloak over Sam and himself to shield them from the soldier's view.

_May these cloaks shield you from unfriendly eyes,_ Lady Galadriel had said. Lucy realized that she must have meant that literally. Slowly, so as not to attract the attention of any more soldiers (or worse- Orcs), Lucy slid down the slope to join her Hobbit friends. "Are you okay?" She gasped at Sam, scanning him for injuries.

"I'm fine, Lucy, I'm fine," Sam assured her. Frodo's gazed was now fixed upon the Black Gate, where the tail end of the army was starting to slide in. Frodo turned to Lucy and Sam.

"I do not ask you to come with me." He said quietly.

"You didn't ask us to join the Fellowship, either," Lucy pointed out. "But we did that anyway." Sam nodded.

"We're in this with you." He shot a troubled look at the Gates. "But I doubt that even these Elvish cloaks will be able to hide us in there."

"Are we going to run for the Gates?" Lucy asked, tensing. Here it was- the moment of truth. They were so _close_ to getting into Mordor, doing away with the Ring and then being done with this crazy mission! Frodo nodded. He paused, motioning for them to wait, but then signaled.

"… Now!"

"NO!" Just as the three lunged forward to make a break for the Gates, they were yanked back sharply, tumbling back into the gravel.

"Ow! What was that for?" Lucy asked Sméagol indignantly.

"Can't go! Can't go! They catch you, they catch you!" Sméagol moaned, shaking his head violently. "Don't take it to him!" Sméagol's eyes were wide and terrified. "He wants the Precious; Always he is looking for it, and the Precious is wanting to go back to him!" His voice darkened suddenly, alarming Lucy and the Hobbits. "But we mustn't let him _have it_."

The Gates began to close. Intent on getting through them before they could shut, Frodo went to make a break for it again. However, he was seized by Sméagol again and pulled back.

"No! No! There's another way!" Sméagol said desperately. "More secret! A dark way."

"Why haven't you spoken of this before?" Sam barked, seizing Sméagol angrily.

"Master did not ask!"

"What was the point of leading us to the Black Gates if you knew we'd be seen trying to get in?" Lucy said.

"Master said to lead to the Black Gates! Sméagol did as he was told!"

"He's up to something!" Sam declared. But Frodo wasn't listening.

"You're saying there's another way into Mordor?" Sméagol was shaking now, looking nervously from Frodo to Lucy to Sam.

"Yes. There's a path… And some stairs… And then… A tunnel…" He clutched at Frodo's cloak pleadingly. The dark haired Hobbit turned to Sam and Lucy.

"He's led us this far."

"Mr. Frodo, no," Sam begged.

"He's been true to his word."

"No!"

Lucy was torn. Something was just not sitting well with her regarding Sméagol, but he _had_ led them this far without getting them killed or trying to take the Ring. He'd had plenty of opportunities to kill them, and he had seized none of them. And how else were they to enter Mordor?

"Lead the way, Sméagol."


	25. A Lovely Day in Fangorn Forest

Woo! Sorry for the lull in updates, everyone. The 'back-to-school' times hit me like Gimli's axe to the side of my head, and recently I caught the annual cold that was going around...

* * *

Sunlight streamed through the trees when Edmund woke up. They were in a small clearing- Treebeard's home, undoubtedly- surrounded by many large and odd trees. All was still and silent. No birds, no bugs, no frogs- no nothing. Edmund pushed himself up- swore softly as that same, racing pain hit his arm- and looked around. "Morning, Ed," Merry and Pippin were awake as well.

Pippin was drinking something from a trickle of water nearby. "How are you feeling?" The Hobbit inquired. Edmund winced.

"I've felt better." He looked around. "Where's Treebeard?"

"Haven't a clue in the slightest," Merry muttered, looking around at the trees warily. "Wonder where he's run off to." Pippin, however, didn't seem as concerned as his companions were at the disappearance of their host.

"I had the loveliest dream last night. There was this large barrel, full of pipe-weed, and we smoked all of it. And then, you were sick," He nodded to Merry, who chuckled. Pippin sighed and leaned back against the tree whose root he was sitting upon. "I'd give anything for a whiff of Old Toby."

"Do you have a problem with Old Toby, Pippin?" Edmund asked slyly. "Do you smoke it too much? Maybe you're addicted."

"Aye, probably," Pippin said cheerfully.

"Did you hear that?" Merry asked. Edmund and Pippin listened for a moment. Neither of them heard a thing. "There it is again!" Merry's head whipped back and forth nervously. "Something's not right here. Not right at all." Pippin stood up, yawning and stretching. He belched… And the oddest sound came out. Edmund's eyes narrowed; Why did it sound so familiar?

Merry picked up on it more quickly. "You just said something… Tree-ish!"

"No I didn't- I was just stretching." Pippin said. But just then, he made two more of those odd noises!

"That sounded sort of Tree-ish to me," Edmund said dryly, crossing his legs and holding his dislocated arm with his good one. "Is Treebeard rubbing off on you?" Merry circled his cousin, a look of bewilderment on his face as Pippin continued to drink the water from the stream.

"You… You're taller!" Merry gasped, looking horrified.

"Who?"

"You!"

"Than what?"

"Me!"

"No way! Let me see!" Edmund said, getting to his feet and hobbling over to them, examining the two Hobbits carefully. It did, indeed, seem as though Pippin had grown a bit taller. Pippin was still shorter than Lucy was, but he was gaining on her.

"I've always been taller than you!" Pippins scoffed at Merry. Merry put his hands on his hips, and Edmund wisely backed up a pace or two.

"Pippin- Everyone knows that _I'm_ the tall one. You're the _short_ one. Isn't that right, Ed?" Edmund nodded, quaking with barely contained mirth.

"That's how I remember it." Pippin just scoffed again.

"Please, Merry," He said cockily. "You're- what- three-foot-six? At the most? Whereas me- I'm pushing three-foot-_seven_." Suddenly, he made another tree-noise and straightened up, grinning. "Three-foot-eight!" He grinned at Merry, who looked anything but amused, and Edmund started to cackle.

"Three-foot-eight? Give me some of that!" Merry began to chase his cousin around the clearing, attempting to take the jug full of the Ent-draft from him. Edmund backed up to the tree where he'd woken up, laughing hard.

"Never… Stop, do they?" Edmund's head jerked downward.

"Boromir! You're awake!" He knelt down next to the Gondorian warrior. Wincing, Boromir pushed himself up.

"I had the strangest dream," He said, shaking his head. "This blinding white light… Then Gandalf came and healed my wounds, and we were carried off by a talking tree that wouldn't shut up…" He chuckled. "Mad, isn't it?" Edmund was silent for a moment, wondering how best to word his response. "Where are we?"

"Ah… Well, Boromir… Oh, how should I break this; It's funny, really… That _dream_ you had… Well, it wasn't entirely a dream." Edmund said, rubbing the back of his head. Boromir's expression held no amusement.

"… What?"

"Believe me, Boromir, I would give anything to make that part about the talking tree untrue. I rather listen to Susan in her "Teacher" mode than hear another of Treebeard's _poems_." He shook his head. "You're lucky you were out of it."

"All… All right… But what of Gandalf? That must have been part of the dream; he's dead!"

"Ah… Not quite."

"_Let me see it, Pippin!_"

"…'Not quite?' _Not quite?_ Define 'Not quite', Edmund!"

"_Not on your life!_"

Edmund sighed. "He's back. Something about sticking around 'until his task is completed'. Didn't quite make it clear what his task was, specifically. He stuck us with Treebeard, a talking tr- Actually, he's an Ent- to protect us for the time being." He stopped, letting this sink in. Boromir let out a breath and leaned back against the tree.

"Good Lord. Where are we?"

"Fangorn Forest." Boromir's eyes widened, and he regarded Edmund like one might regard a lunatic.

"_Fangorn__ Forest__?_ Fangorn? _Forest_? Edmund, are you aware of what Fangorn Forest _is_?" Clearly, it was another fun-fact about Middle Earth that Edmund had no clue about.

"… A forest full of talking trees and Ents?" He asked flatly. "It's all I've seen here! I've only been in this world for a few months. You can't expect me to know all of the legend and lore about Middle Earth!" Boromir let out a breath, running a hand through his rust-colored hair.

"I suppose I can't. Fangorn does not have the best reputation- Some reported the forest to be cursed, full of dark spirits. Many men have disappeared into its depths before, never to be seen again." Edmund snorted.

"They probably said something to offend the Ents. Treebeard's dull as a log, but all the same I wouldn't want him angry with me." Boromir chuckled.

"Ents… Faramir would go mad. He's obsessed with the history and legends of Middle Earth, and I remember this one spell of his where he went on and on about the lore of the tree shepherds." He looked around and sighed. "Where is our host, anyhow?" Edmund shook his head.

"I don't know. We woke up and he was gone-"

"HELP! HELP! KILLER TREE, KILLER TREE!" The two humans whirled about to see Merry and Pippin being devoured by the roots of a massive tree! Boromir leapt up, unsheathing his sword, and stumbled quickly to the tree (his legs were unused to being walked on). As Pippin and Merry were screaming, rapidly being pulled into the depths of the tree, he slammed his blade into a root.

This bore an adverse result.

One branch shot down and smacked Boromir hard in the chest, sending him flying clear across the clearing. Winded, he laid stunned for a moment. Edmund jumped onto the root and began tugging frantically (He'd almost pulled out his sword, but decided not to incite an instant replay of Boromir's hit). "Stop it! Let them go!" He yelled. This did not work, and a moment later he felt _himself _being pulled down too-

"Away with you!" _Stomp, stomp_. Treebeard's timing could not have been better. "You should not… _hmmmhmmm_… Be waking! Eat earth… Dig deep. Drink… _hmmmhmmm_… Water. Go to sleep." As Treebeard spoke, the roots relaxed, and Merry and Pippin (stuttering, stumbling, sputtering and shaking) were out of there faster than you could call their names.

"Good timing! Excellent timing! Would you mind explaining why that tree just _tried to eat us?_" Edmund cried hysterically, pulling the dried and yellowed leaves off his pant legs.

"Yes- I could have sworn that trees didn't eat meat! Even the…" Boromir glanced warily back at the tree. "… Even the ones that move." Treebeard shook his massive head.

"You see now why… _hmmmhmmm_… This forest is feared. Come… _hmmmhmmm_… The forest is waking up. It isn't safe."

* * *

Boromir and Edmund were content to walk alongside Treebeard as he carried Merry and Pippin on his shoulders. Boromir did not wish to burden the Ent with his weight, and Edmund had no particular desire to be up that high again. But as they walked, Edmund's left arm (his bad one) bumped into a tree, and he gasped in pain. This alerted Boromir to the ever-present issue of Edmund's injury.

"That's right. I still have to relocate your arm."

"Oh no, that's fine- You can just leave it," Edmund said, backing away a little. Boromir gave the boy a knowing look.

"Edmund."

"It'll hurt!" Edmund protested. "I know it will; A boy on my football team(1) had to have his shoulder relocated, and he said it hurt like a-"

"It does." Boromir sighed. "I would know. I dislocated my shoulder twice when I was your age, climbing trees- or rather, falling out of them- and such. But wouldn't you rather endure the pain for a little while and then be able to use your arm perfectly again?"

"That depends- How badly is this going to hurt?"

"There are so few of us now… _hmmmhmmm_… Too few of us Ents left to… _hmmmhmmm_… Manage them." Treebeard was speaking of the trees of Fangorn.

"Why are there so few of you when you've lived so long?" Pippin inquired curiously, cocking his head at Treebeard. "Are there Ent children?"

"_Bru-ra-hroom!_ There have been no Entlings for… _hmmmhmmm…_A terrible long count of years…"

"Why is that?"

"We lost the Entwives." Pippin blinked.

"Oh, I'm sorry…" Edmund turned to Boromir.

"'Entwives'?" He whispered. Boromir shrugged.

"The wives of Ents, I presume." He murmured. "How did they die, Treebeard?"

"Die? No… We _lost_ them… And now, we cannot… _hmmmhmmm_… _Find_ them." The four Fellowship members exchanged odd looks.

"This whole bloody world is barking _mad_…" Edmund whispered, shaking his head.

"I don't suppose any of you have… _hmmmhmmm…_ Have seen the Entwives?"

"… Can't say that I have…" Merry said, giving Treebeard a bizarre look. "What about you, Boromir? Seen any Entwives in Gondor?" Boromir shook his head, biting back a smirk. "Ed?"

"I wasn't even aware that trees could talk until now," Edmund grunted. "So, no, I can't say I've caught sight of any Entwives in my life. You, Pippin?" Pippin shook his head, bemused.

"What do they look like?" There was a very, very long pause after his inquiry. Treebeard seemed to be thinking hard.

"I… Don't remember… Now."

"Oh, really? Did you hear that, Edmund, he doesn't remember what the Ent_wives_ look like." Boromir muttered, throwing up his hands. "This is going to be a long, long walk…"

* * *

(1) Just so we're clear, I don't mean football as in the "Thanksgiving-day-pig-skin-ball-blow-out". I mean it in the 'soccer' sense, but Edmund's British, so he would probably said 'football' instead.


	26. The King of the Golden Hall

Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Peter and Susan all arrived at Edoras midday. It was a settlement set on a gigantic, surprisingly steep hill (A small mountain in and of itself) with a background of snow-capped mountains. The city was encompassed by a tall, wooden fence; houses peppered the hill, and at the very top was a rather large building.

Middle Earth was truly a diverse place: Rohan's design was simple (Compared to places such as Rivendell and Lothloríen), but powerful and beautiful within its own right.

"Edoras, and the Golden Hall of Meduseld." Gandalf said. "There dwells Théoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown. Saruman's hold on the King is very strong now. Be careful what you say." Here, he seemed to let his gaze linger on Gimli and Peter. "Do not look for welcome here." They rode on towards the city. As they did, a flag tore itself loose from the Hall above and drifted down to the Plains below.

Peter felt an odd sense of foreboding.

Once they'd entered the city, they rode past several houses, all of which had straw, thatched roofs. Very little in Edoras was made of stone or steel- the building material of choice was wood.

The people stared at the strangers curiously… But warily. They dressed in dark browns, greens and reds and black. Yes- black seemed to be the dominant color… And there was the oddest feeling to them all that it wasn't a color typically worn. "Gandalf," Susan whispered, leaning forward from her backseat on Shadowfax. "Are they in mourning?"

"Perhaps," Gandalf murmured back.

"For a family member… Or perhaps their King." Aragorn mumbled. "Saruman has truly sucked the life from Rohan and its people."

"'Twould not surprise me if they were… You'd find more cheer in a graveyard than this place…" Gimli grunted, eyeing the townsfolk with equal caution. Susan shivered and moved a little closer to Gandalf; Even the small children had cold, cagey gazes directed at them.

Five men exited the Golden Hall as they arrived. Four had helmets on, their facial features indistinguishable. But the man at the head of them had no helmet, revealing his long, red hair and goatee. He approached them solemnly, eyes never leaving Gandalf once they landed. "I cannot allow you before Théoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame." He said stiffly. Then he added, "By order of… Gríma Wormtongue." His voice flickered with distaste.

Gandalf paused, and then nodded to his companions. One by one, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Peter and Susan all unhooked their weapons and handed them over to the guards- Gimli relinquishing his axe with some great reluctance. As Peter handed over his sword, one of the guards spoke, "Do you even know how to use this, boy?"

Peter scowled angrily, ready to retort, when Aragorn cut in. "You bet he does. A real prodigy with a blade." Peter flushed. Not for the first time, Susan could have kissed the Ranger; He'd quickly and smoothly diffused a potentially ugly situation spawned from someone saying _just _the wrong thing to Peter.

It took some time relieving the Fellowship of their weapons. Aragorn and Legolas in particular had several knives hidden in their clothing- just in case. But when all was said and done, the head guardsman still did not let them pass. "Your staff." He said to Gandalf, nodding to Gandalf's smooth, white staff (So different from his old, gnarled one!).

But Gandalf, to his companions' surprise, took on a pitiful expression. "You surely would not part an old man from his walking stick?" The guardsman's expression flattened as the humans, elf and dwarf all barely contained snickers. Everyone there knew damn well that, of all the old men in Middle Earth, Gandalf was the one that needed a walking stick the _least._

But it seemed that the guardsman didn't think much of this (Or he simply wanted to spite Wormtongue), and he signaled that they could go on. Gandalf winked at his friends and walked on, making a point to lean heavily on his staff. Legolas and Susan, to aid the act, both took Gandalf's arm in the pretense of _aiding_ him.

The Golden Hall was dim, dark. The people in it looked highly unpleasant, and Peter wondered if they fell in with Wormtongue. Speaking of the worm… A pallid man with stringy, black hair sat at the side of an old, decrepit man (He looked like death warmed-over) at the head of the Hall: King Théoden and Gríma Wormtongue. Wormtongue whispered something into Théoden's ear, looking gleeful.

The doors were shut behind them, effectively cutting off the only route of escape. Gandalf removed his arm from Susan and Legolas' holds. Rough looking men slithered up the sides of the Hall, eyes on the group at all times. One of them began to look Susan up and down, and Peter immediately stepped forward to block his view. _Eyes off my little sister, scumbag,_ He thought icily.

Wormtongue whispered something else into Théoden's ear. The king did nothing.

"The courtesy of your hall has somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King." Gandalf said in a loud, commanding voice.

Wormtongue mumbled something else, and this time, Théoden stirred. His voice was slow and thick, halting. "Why should I welcome _you_… Gandalf Stormcrow?" Wormtongue mumbled something else, nodding wildly in agreement with Théoden's question.

_Good Lord, Gandalf, how many names do you have?_ Peter wondered incredulously.

"Late is the hour," Wormtongue sneered, rising from his seat at Théoden's side. "In which this conjurer chooses to appear.

"Let Gandalf concern himself with Wormtongue," Aragorn muttered discreetly to Peter and Susan. "You two, concern yourself with his minions. They watch us with venom in their gazes. I don't trust them." Indeed, the men at the sides of the Hall were still following.

"Láthspell, I name him!" Wormtongue snarled, approaching Gandalf with a cocky air. "Ill news is an ill guest." He stared at the Wizard with no trace of fear in his eyes.

"Be silent!" Gandalf snapped, cool voice cracking through the silence like a whip. His eyes narrowed, peering at Wormtongue with disgust. "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth!" Wormtongue seemed taken aback by this, and some of his arrogance slid from his gaze. "I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm." He whipped his staff up to eye level.

_Now_ Wormtongue looked worried. "His staff…" He whispered, shocked. Then, louder, angrier, more urgently, "I _told_ you to take the Wizard's staff!" The men at the sides rushed at the Fellowship now, and made to attack Gandalf. The others sprang into action, seizing the men and throwing them down. This was a fairly easy feat for Legolas and Aragorn, but for Gimli, Peter and Susan, it was a bit more difficult.

One man charged at Peter and slammed into him with surprising force. Peter was momentarily winded, but then seized the opportunity of their close proximity and elbowed the man in the nose- hard. There was a satisfying crunch, and the rogue stumbled back, clutching his face. Peter hit him hard in the stomach, bringing him down and keeping him down.

Gimli's method was to attack the legs and take them out- Susan's, however, was a bit more direct. Instead of attempting to grab a hold on any of the men (Which was sure to fail), she went for a lower blow. Simple and effective, and enough to get Peter thinking that he should never, ever make Susan mad enough to hit him.

As his friends dashed around him and the civilians in the Hall watched in awe, Gandalf approached Théoden at a slow, even pace. "Théoden, son of Thengel…" Théoden leered hatefully at Gandalf, but did not move from his throne. "Too long have you sat in the Shadows."

Gimli ran over to Wormtongue, who'd been knocked down in the confusion, and pressed a boot to his chest. "I would stay still if I were you," The dwarf growled. One man rushed Susan again, seizing her arm and twisting it. She cried out.

"_Don't you touch her!_" Peter roared, pulling the man off her and throwing him down.

"Hearken to me!" Every man wishing to challenge Gandalf was down, and there was silence as the Wizard drew close to the king. The soldiers and civilians stepped out from beside their pillars and watched in awe. Gandalf raised a hand. "I release you from this spell." His eyes shut.

"Heh heh heh… Ah ha… Ah hah hah hah hah ahaha!" Théoden was _laughing_. Not a good sign. "You have no power here, Gandalf the _Grey_." He sneered. His voice was not that of Saruman's, but it held all the contempt that would have been there.

It was now that Gandalf pulled his ace in the hole. He reached to his chest and ripped his gray cloak off, revealing his shining, white robes. They seemed to glimmer in the Golden Hall, although there was little light. Théoden flattened back against his throne, shocked at the revelation. Gandalf spread his arms.

"I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound." He thundered, thrusting his staff towards Théoden. The king slammed against the back of his throne, grunting sharply and shirking away from the light that radiated from Gandalf. Behind them, a blonde woman in white came dashing forward. Seeing the king in distress, she gasped, and ran forward to help him. Aragorn stopped her, grabbing her arm.

"Wait," He said to her.

Théoden turned to Gandalf, glaring. "If I go," He hissed, and now his voice was that of Saruman's, "Théoden dies."

"You did not kill me, you will not kill him." Gandalf said, the confidence in his voice never wavering.

"Rohan is _mine_," Saruman snarled through Théoden's mouth. Gandalf thrust his staff forward again, and Théoden was slammed back against the throne again.

"Be gone!" He commanded.

"_Gyaaah!_" Théoden, without warning, leapt from his seat and made to attack Gandalf, only to be blown back one last time. Gandalf, looking fatigued, slowly lowered his staff. Théoden groaned and tilted forward, about to slide off his seat. Here, Aragorn released the young lady in white. She rushed forward and caught her king by the shoulders, straightening him up again.

The transformation that happened next was so smooth, so clean that you could barely tell it was happening. The long, long hair and beard that the king sported began to recede, growing shorter and going from pale, bleached white to pale brown with spots of gray. The mist faded from his eyes, and many of the deep lines in his face disappeared. His color returned. He was becoming _younger_.

"Oh my… Just what did Saruman do to him?" Susan whispered.

"He leeched the life from him, Susan," Aragorn muttered. "Sucked him dry until he was a weak, fatigued husk that he could control." At his throne, recognition flashed in Théoden's eyes. They became kinder, and his face became friendlier. The woman smiled at him, ecstatic.

"I know your face…" He said softly, bewildered. "Éowyn… Eowyn…" Gandalf took a step back, allowing them to have their moment. The movement made Théoden turn his head, eyes wide. "Gandalf?" He asked, as though Gandalf had not been there the whole time. Gandalf smiled.

"Breathe the free air again, my friend." Eowyn helped Théoden to his feet, and he gazed over his subjects in the Hall, squinting at the light. But however disoriented he seemed, he stood with all the regality of a ruler. They all bowed to him.

"Dark have been my dreams of late," He said hoarsely, examining his hands and flexing his fingers experimentally. Gandalf took a slight step forward.

"Your fingers would remember their old strength better," He said. "If they grasped your sword." The guardsman they'd met earlier moved up to the king, head bowed, and offered Théoden his sword. The king ran his fingers over the hilt hesitantly, but then seized it and slowly extracted it from its sheath, holding it aloft and examining its shine in the light.

Just then, something else flashed in his eyes- something cold and angry. Slowly, expression darkening, Théoden turned to one of the chief people responsible for his enchantment.

Wormtongue was already scrambling for the door.

* * *

The doors of the Golden Hall flew open, and Gríma Wormtongue was flung out by the guards, tumbling head over heels down the stone steps, thunking ever step of the way. "No less than he deserves!" Susan huffed. Théoden was of similar thinking. Wobbling slightly, he stumbled down the stairs after Wormtongue, sword in hand and not what you'd call happy.

"I've only ever served you, my lord!" Wormtongue was, even in defeat, still attempting to ensnare the king to his will. He stumbled backwards on his hands and feet down the remaining stairs as the king pursued him.

"Your leechcraft," Théoden said in a low voice, anger building, "Would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!"

"Send me not from your sight!" Wormtongue pleaded.

"Is he mad? If Théoden were looking at me like that, I'd want to be out of his sight as quickly as possible!" Peter said. Legolas shook his head.

"He is still deluded into believing that he can convince Théoden of his loyalty." His expression hardened. "It will cost him."

Indeed it would. Théoden swung his sword high, intending to end Wormtongue's wretched life then and there on the steps of the Hall. Susan gasped and covered her eyes, while her brother's widened. Aragorn then dashed past them and down the steps, seizing Théoden's arms in mid-slash.

"No! No, my lord! Let him go," Aragorn entreated him. He met the king's eyes. "Enough blood has been shed on his account." Théoden seemed uncertain… But then pulled back, eyeing Wormtongue with a mixture of pity and disgust. Noble Aragorn offered a hand to Wormtongue.

Wormtongue regarded it as one might a viper, then spit on it. As Aragorn grimaced and pulled his hand back, Wormtongue leapt to his feet and pushed through the throng of people that were gawking at the scene. "Get out of my way!" He roared, dashing to the stables. Once he'd disappeared from sight, a cry went up:

"Hail, Théoden King!" Everyone in the crowd got to their knees in a bow, as did Aragorn. Théoden, looking dazed, turned back to Gandalf. He said only seven words:

"Where is Théodred?" He turned to face Eowyn. "Where is my son?"


	27. Theoden's Will

Here came another source of grief for poor King Théoden: His son, Théodred, had been killed in a skirmish with some Orcs (Or perhaps Uruk-Hai) not so long ago, and had died earlier that morning. His funeral was a sad thing to attend- he seemed to be a much-loved Prince. Eowyn- whom they now knew to be Théoden's niece and Eomer's (The leader of the Riders) sister- sang a heart-breaking dirge at his internment.

"What do you suppose comes next?" Susan whispered to Peter as they made their way back to the Golden Hall. Gandalf and Théoden remained behind at the tomb as all the others went back to their duties.

"What do you mean?" Peter asked.

"Well, Gandalf said we came here to help Théoden break free from Saruman. He didn't say if we were supposed to do more here or move on to something else." She was silent for a moment. "If we are doing something next, I hope it involves finding Edmund." Peter sighed.

"Susan, please. Gandalf said that Edmund was safe- Don't you believe him?" Susan looked away, and her brother put an arm around her shoulders. "Su- look at me." She did so hesitantly. "Edmund is fine. Boromir, Merry and Pippin are with him. They will stick together through thick and thin, just as the six of us have."

"Then what about Lucy?" They'd stopped near the doors of the Hall. "Gandalf said that Edmund's fine and dandy, but what about Lucy?" Her voice rose a note in pitch. "She's running off towards Mordor with Frodo and Sam, and I don't see Gandalf offering up any wisdom on her safety!"

Nearby, already in the Hall, Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn heard the better part of Susan's worry. "She worries so much." Legolas murmured, shaking his golden head and watching the two siblings.

"She has much to worry about," Gimli said. "I can't say I disagree with her. Out of the lot of us, Frodo, Samwise and Lucy have the greatest task of all. It is a blessing that Susan has never _seen _Mordor, else she would faint from the idea of what her little sister makes her way towards."

"I cannot foresee them dying." Aragorn said softly, crossing his arms. "I know it is possible, and I know that it is likely. But I cannot foresee Frodo, Samwise or Lucy dying." Legolas shot a look at Aragorn.

"Is Susan or Peter aware that the quest's end- At least, the Ringbearer's fate- has been… Predetermined?" He posed the question delicately. Aragorn shook his head.

"I have made no mention of it." He paused. "If anything should turn deadly… It is likely that Frodo will send Samwise and Lucy away."

"It is also likely, Ranger, that they will refuse straight-out and go with him regardless." Gimli grunted. "They did so in the council, if you recall." Aragorn sighed.

"So they did." He shot a furtive glance at Susan and Peter. They were hugging. "All the same… The situation is stressful enough. For now, let us hesitate in saying anything about Lucy, Sam and Frodo that we don't need to. There's not much Peter or Susan can do to help them more than they are now, and they're better off not agonizing over it."

* * *

Two children had arrived as Gandalf and Théoden stood by the tomb. They rode on a large, dark horse, and were incredibly dirty- the result of a long, frantic dash from one of the many scattered villages in Rohan all the way to Edoras. One was Eothain, who was around Lucy's age. The other was his sister Freda, who was about five or six years younger. They warned the king that the Wild Men (Bandits and other unfavorable characters that had once called some Rohan territory their own) had been running amok, burning every village they encountered and slaughtering the people.

"They had no warning," Eowyn said. "They were unarmed." Théoden covered his face with a hand. How could he have allowed such a thing to happen under his own nose? "Now the Wild Men are moving through the Westfold, burning as they go. Rick, cot and tree…"

"Where is mama?" Freda piped up suddenly. Eowyn shushed her gently and put a blanket around her shoulders. Peter and Susan had to turn away. Gandalf now sat at Théoden's right hand, in the same seat that Wormtongue had one _graced_. When Wormtongue had spoken, it was in whispers, only for the king, and his words seemed to poison the air around him. But when Gandalf spoke, it was cool and clear, for the ears of everyone concerned.

"This is but a taste of the terror that Saruman will unleash. All the more potent, for now he is driven by fear of Sauron." Gandalf leaned forward and put a hand on Théoden's elbow. "Ride out and meet him head on. Draw him away from your women and children. You must fight!"

"You have 2,000 good men riding north as we speak," Aragorn chipped in, holding his un-lit pipe away from his mouth. "Eomer is loyal to you. His men will return and gladly fight for their king." Frustrated, Théoden stood up and paced.

"They will be 300 leagues from here by now!" He took a deep breath. "Eomer cannot help us." Gandalf stepped down from his seat and opened his mouth to speak, but the king cut him short. "I know what it is you ask of me, but I will not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war."

As he paced, arms folded tightly behind his back, Peter found it hard to believe that this man had, only that morning, been feeble and decrepit. Now he looked ready to wrestle a mountain lion. The blonde teenager found himself in awe of Rohan's king, and observed him carefully.

"Open war is upon you, whether you would risk it or not." Aragorn said coolly after sharing a look with Gimli. Eowyn shot a brief look at the Ranger as Théoden turned around.

"When last I looked," He said, a tinge of frost to his words, "It was Théoden, not Aragorn, who was king of Rohan." Peter and Susan shared looks. Susan was not so much in awe of Théoden as her brother was; she thought, bluntly, that he was hard-headed and didn't like having the cold truth laid out in front of him. Was this what she had to look forward to when Peter and Edmund grew older? She prayed not.

"Then what is the king's decision?" Gandalf inquired as soothingly as he could, glance jumping from Aragorn to Théoden.

"We make for Helm's Deep."

* * *

"Helm's Deep!" Gandalf huffed angrily as he and the others trekked down to the stables. He had accepted Théoden's decision with humility and grace, but now that he was amongst friends, he let his true opinion show.

"They flee to the mountains when they should stand and fight!" Gimli snarled. "Who will defend them if not their king?"

"What's Helm's Deep?" Peter asked as he slid down the steep path. All around them, civilians were packing together their belongings and preparing to flee. "A castle?"

"Of sorts, lad," Gimli said. "'Tis a fortress built into the side of a mountain. Its deepening wall has said to never have been breached by an enemy so long as men defend it."

"And if it were to be under siege?" Susan asked. "What then? What happens when they run out of food?"

"If all other options were exhausted, they would flee through the caves in the side of the rock that would lead to a mountain pass. From there, they could easily flee. But in times like these, where Orcs and Uruk-Hai wait around every bloody corner to jump you and cut your throat, Helm's Deep is a veritable suicide option!"

"Théoden is only doing what he thinks is best for his people." Aragorn said quietly as they entered the stables. "Helm's Deep has saved them in the past."

"So he thinks it's best to pull them into a fortress and pray that Saruman doesn't figure out where they are?" Susan said, bewildered.

"Oh, Saruman will know!" Gandalf snapped. "Wormtongue will have returned to him by now. Your mercy was in good faith, Aragorn, but it may prove to bring us trouble in times to come." He shook his white head grimly. "He believes he is leading them to safety- What he'll get is a massacre."

Gandalf looked to all of them once they reached Shadowfax. "Théoden has a strong will, but I fear for him. I fear for the survival of Rohan." Here, he looked to Aragorn. "He will need you before the end, Aragorn. The people of Rohan will need you. The defenses have to hold." Aragorn nodded.

"They will hold." Gandalf turned and stroked Shadowfax's mane wearily.

"The Grey Pilgrim. That's what they used to call me. Three hundred lives of men I've walked this earth, and now I have no time." He seemed to be saying it more to himself than the others, but they heard him regardless. Susan did the math in her head as the wizard mounted his horse.

"Three hundred lifetimes of- Peter! Gandalf's over 3,000 years old!" She hissed. Peter nodded vaguely, shocked.

"I knew he was old, but…" He shook his head. "You know what? Eventually, I'm going to stop being surprised at every new thing in this world."

"But then what is the point in living in it?" Gandalf said to him, cocking an eyebrow. "Discovery is all part of life. And hopefully, my search for a rather specific _discovery_ will not be in vain. Look to my coming at first light on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the east." They all nodded and stood aside. Gandalf urged Shadowfax on, and he charged from the stables and from Edoras itself.


	28. Separated in Ithilien

"Stinker! Don't go getting too far ahead!"

Sméagol was scrambling through the rock-filled stream on his hands and knees, chasing a fish that was flopping frantically through the water. Lucy was following him as quickly and carefully as she could without slipping, giggling at the funny looking creature as he squirmed and cackled.

"Careful, Sméagol! You'll hurt yourself on the rocks!" She called. She could hear Sam and Frodo talking in low voices not far back.

"We almost has it, girlses, we almost has it!" Sméagol cackled wildly, leaping off a chipped and rugged rock to pounce onto the fish. Struggling, he attempted to seize the tailfin of the fish only to have it slip away once again. "Ooh, stupid fishes!" He had lost sight of it again. Hopping onto a large rock that split the stream in two, he looked around for another fish.

Lucy wandered to the edge of the waterfall that sent the stream tumbling over the side of a cliff. She had no idea where they were (Sméagol said he knew where he was going, and that would suffice- for now), but it was lovely. There were many trees, and the land was lush and colorful. Much better than the Dead Marshes.

"Bad fishes! Bad fishes gets away from us!" Sméagol keened, slapping his fist against the rock.

"Don't worry- There are probably more around here." Lucy assured him. "Why do you like fish so much, Sméagol?" Sméagol giggled.

"Because, girlses! Fishes are _raw_¸ and they slithers as they goes down! The scaleses are so crunchy!" Lucy's eyes widened at this. Sometimes, having an active imagination wasn't such a good thing…

"Oh… I… I see…" She murmured.

"_What do you know about it? **Nothing!**"_ Lucy and Sméagol whipped around to face Frodo and Sam. The latter looked shocked- the former looked angry. Lucy had never seen Frodo sincerely and genuinely angry before, and now… Now he looked a little scary. Sam must have thought so too, because he backed away a little and then made to follow Lucy and Sméagol.

Frodo said something softly. It made Sam stop and turn around. "Sam? Frodo?" They didn't hear. Or they were too caught up to hear. Lucy moved closer, but Sméagol hung back, uncertain.

"-the Ring. You can't take your eyes off it. I've seen you," Sam was saying. Lucy didn't like the look in Frodo's eyes; she'd seen it somewhere before (She couldn't quite recall where) and she didn't like it. "You're not eating. You barely _sleep_. It's taking hold of you, Mr. Frodo. You have to fight it!"

"I know what I have to do, Sam." Frodo's teeth were clenched. He had the same air about him that Peter always got when someone was telling him something he already knew. "The Ring was entrusted to me. It's my task. Mine! My own!" Lucy gasped; Where had they heard _that_ before?

Frodo stormed past Sam towards the woods. "Frodo-" Lucy tried to speak to him, but he brushed past her.

"Don't you hear yourself?" Sam hissed. "Do you know who you sound like?"

Frodo didn't stop.

Sam shook his head, but then quickly followed after.

Lucy was frozen. Sméagol joined her side, smiling a forced smile. "Well, come on girlses! Nice Hobbitses are making progress!" Lucy just stared. Sméagol twitched a little, but then, assuming Lucy would follow in time, scrambled off after Sam and Frodo. But she stayed where she was.

Lucy felt sick.

Now she remembered where she'd seen the look that Frodo had gotten in his eyes:

Sméagol.

* * *

After a night's sleep, Sméagol was in a surprisingly jolly mood. Lucy supposed she liked him better this way, but he was prone to doing… _Strange_ things a little more often when happy. His attempts at providing food were an example of such. Apparently, fish weren't the only animals Sméagol was willing to eat raw…

"_Pthhht!_" Sméagol spit out two dead rabbits on Frodo's lap, and Lucy groaned.

"Sméagol! Oh, even our old cat didn't drag dead animals up to us…" She mumbled, shaking her head. But then, many would consider comparing Sméagol's habits to that of a cat's to be an insult to cats. Sméagol, however, was proud of his find, and gestured proudly to the stunned Hobbit.

"Look! Look! See what Sméagol finds!" He did an odd sort of spinning dance while Frodo sent a weak smile at him, Lucy and Sam. His eyes read, _What__ do I say?_ Sam looked nauseated. Lucy didn't dare look; she loved bunnies. Sméagol cackled wildly as he finished his dance. "They are young, they are tender, they are nice!" He snapped the spine of one rabbit. "Yes they are; eat them, eat them!" He sunk his teeth into the skin of the rabbit.

Lucy made a face. "Oh God…" She decided that it was a good idea that Susan wasn't there. She would have fainted. Frodo looked torn between his faux happiness and disgust at the dead rabbit that was being shoved into his face. "Sméagol… We can't just eat them raw," Lucy said faintly. "They have germs on them… We'll get sick…"

"Like we aren't already, with him behaving like that!" Sam snapped, picking up the two rabbits. Sméagol looked affronted. "There is only one way to eat a brace of coneys."

Not fifteen minutes later, Sméagol was howling. Sam was making soup of the rabbit meat (Well, what rabbit meat there was). "What's it doing? What's it doing? Oh, nasty fat Hobbitses! It ruins it!" Frodo sighed, standing up and walking over to the bags. Sméagol had been silent up until the rabbits had been put in, curious as to Sam's methods, but now he really wasn't in the mood for the theatrics.

"He's cooking it! It's not that bad- Haven't you ever eaten cooked food before?" Lucy asked. Sméagol's eyes narrowed in thought.

"Maybe we has, but we don't remembers it!" He growled. Again, Lucy wondered at Sméagol's origins.

"It's not like there's much meat on them anyway," Sam muttered. "What we need is a few good taters." Oh, potatoes… How long had it been since Lucy had eaten potatoes? Not since Professor Kirke's house. It was another excellent reason for never making Mrs. Macready mad at you- she was an excellent cook.

Sméagol's eyes were wide and curious. "Taters? What's taters, Precious? Eh?"

"Ugh!" Sam rolled his eyes heavenwards. "Po-ta-toes! Mash 'em, boil 'em, stick 'em in a stew!"

"Or cut them up and fry them," Lucy chipped in with a grin. "That's what Mum always did with them." Sam nodded in agreement.

"Lovely, big golden chips with a nice big piece of fried fish."

"Mmm!"

"_Blech_!" Sméagol spat.

"Even you can't say no to that!" Sam said.

"Oh yes we could!" Sméagol assured him. "Spoil a nice fish…" He crawled up to Sam, making sure he was right in the sandy-haired Hobbit's face. "Give it to us _raw_, and _wriggling!_" He made the most ridiculous expressions when saying this, and Lucy had to laugh. "You keep nasty chips!" Sam shook his head, giving Sméagol a withering look.

"You're hopeless."

Lucy was pleased. It seemed that the animosity between Sam and Sméagol was starting to ebb down to pointless bickering and banter. Sam sniffed the stew, and then looked around. He suddenly became alert. "Mr. Frodo?" Lucy jumped and looked around.

Frodo was gone again!

"I really wish he'd stop doing this!" She gasped as they stood up and dashed down the path, following Frodo's footsteps.

Frodo had not wandered that far from the camp, in reality (He didn't have time to). They found him on his stomach on the edge of a cliff watching…

"Oh my…" Lucy whispered. "Who are they?"

Lines of men in dark, heavy clothing marched through the thick underbrush of the ground bellow, marching with military precision. They carried wooden and steel, thin weapons, many of which were covered heavily in spikes. Many of the men wore head coverings that hid all but their eyes and noses from view.

"Wicked men," Sméagol hissed. "Servants of Sauron. They are called to Mordor. The Dark One is gathering all armies to him. It won't be long now. Soon, he will be ready to make his war…"

"War?" Sam whispered. Sméagol nodded slowly, darkly.

"The last war that will cover all the world in Shadow."

"I don't understand," Lucy whispered. There was little chance that, considering the distance and the fact that many of the men were barking orders, they would be heard, but it seemed unwise to do otherwise. "I thought humans were on our side."

"Not all of them," Sméagol murmured. "Some. Not all. The Dark One brings enemies of Good men to him. Let's them fight for him, for vengeance." Suddenly, the ground shook, and all of them looked to their left. Lucy gasped, and Sam's eyes went wide in almost child-like wonderment.

"It's an oliphaunt…" He whispered, awe-struck.

"An elephant?" Lucy whispered. "Aren't they supposed to be… Smaller?" For indeed, these monsters could have touched the top of Big Ben with their trunks! Their tusks were massive, and Lucy decided then and there that she never wanted to be on the business end of them. On their backs were wooden baskets, filled with more warriors.

"Oliphaunts are creatures we've only heard tales of in the Shire," Frodo murmured. Sam's eyes were positively glowing.

"No one at home will believe this…" He whispered.

Suddenly, a soft bird call went out, echoing over the land. Sméagol, looking stricken, started to back away, stumbling down the slope. Lucy turned around. "Sméagol?" She went after him as he hurried down the dirt path, nervously looking around. "Sméagol! Why are you running? We have to stay with Sam and Frodo!"

"We must go, girlses! We must go! Hurry!"

"But-" Loud shouts were heard from the ground below. One oliphaunt let out a pained trumpet and stumbled towards the cliff, the basket full of men on its back toppling off and crashing down. Lucy gasped and ran after Sméagol, believing that Sam and Frodo weren't too far behind. Right now, it was best to take cover so that none of the wicked men would see them.


	29. Making for Helm's Deep

The line of refugees was a fairly long one- Edoras was larger in population than any of them had assumed. Peter and Susan had acquired their own horses; Peter rode back with Aragorn, while Susan rode further ahead with Gimli and Eowyn. "It's true, you don't see many Dwarf women," Gimli was saying to Éowyn. "And in fact, they are so alike in voice and appearance, they're often mistaken for Dwarf men!"

Susan and Éowyn giggled, then glanced back at Aragorn and Peter. "It's the beards," Aragorn whispered, gesturing to his chin. Both girls gasped and had to turn their heads away to hide their laughter. Gimli did not notice.

"This, in turn, has given rise to the belief that there _are_ no Dwarf women, and that Dwarves simply pop out of holes in the ground!" Éowyn laughed. "Which is, of course, ridicu-_**lous**__!_" Halfway through "ridiculous", Gimli's horse decided that it wanted to run a little, and took off down the line. Gimli, being too short to properly ride the horse, promptly fell off into a heap on the plain. Susan dismounted her horse and ran after Éowyn to make sure he was all right.

"It's all right! Nobody panic! That was deliberate, it was deliberate." The two women helped him up, grinning.

"Then no more 'deliberate' stunts from you, Gimli," Susan scolded. "You could have broken your neck!" Éowyn smiled as Gimli ran off to collect his horse (Which would, undoubtedly, be another entertaining show in and of itself).

"Does he always do things… _Deliberately_?" Éowyn asked Susan quietly. Susan nodded.

"Mm-hmm. He and my brothers get along well." Éowyn's brow furrowed.

"'Brothers'? You have another brother aside from Peter?" Susan nodded again as they walked on, crossing her arms.

"Edmund. He's eleven. We have a sister, Lucy, too. She's ten."

"Where are they?" Susan glanced away.

"Elsewhere. We… Sort of lost them on the trail. They're with others, and Gandalf told us that Edmund's safe, but Lucy…" She trailed off, eyes clouding. Éowyn looked at the ground for a moment, and then redirected the conversation.

"So, is Peter protective of you?" Susan gave a little laugh.

"Oh, yes," She said. The wind picked up and blew their hair back. "When boys come near me, Peter never has to _say_ anything- he just has to look at them, and they take off." Susan chuckled. "Is Eomer like that?" Éowyn moaned.

"Even worse. I _wish_ he could just get away with glaring at them, but he once knocked one of my suitors into a manure pile. Accidentally, of course." Susan laughed.

"I can see Peter doing that. Lucy's lucky- once she starts reeling the boys in, Peter will probably be otherwise occupied."

"Will Edmund care?" Susan snorted softly.

"No!" As the ladies talked on, Peter felt at ease. Susan actually seemed _relaxed_. Must've been a relief for her to talk to another woman after the long weeks of him, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli. Legolas walked next to Peter's horse.

"She seems happy," He said to the Elf. Legolas nodded.

"Yes. I suppose casual conversation gives her a sense of normalcy."

"First time she's had it in a year, then," Peter muttered. Legolas looked up at him.

"Things were not well in your world, were they, Peter?" He asked. Peter hesitated. Gandalf had never told them directly not to tell anyone in Middle Earth of England; he knew they had the sense not to all on their own. Telling someone in Middle Earth that they'd gotten _to_ Middle Earth via a wardrobe would make them look mad, just as it would in England.

However, enough of the spats between Edmund and Peter (most of the tension arising from the war) had been enough to clue the rest of the Fellowship in that there was conflict where they came from. The Fellowship knew that the Pevensies weren't from Middle Earth, but they didn't know where exactly from.

"There's a war on," Peter admitted quietly, now aware that Aragorn was in tune with the conversation. "Our dad…" He stopped. "Our dad… He had to go and fight. Then the enemy started openly attacking our country, and… Things haven't been so well since then."

"Your arguments with Edmund," Legolas said quietly. "They had to do with your father, right?" Peter nodded slowly.

"Yeah. He thinks that I'm bossing him around because I'm trying to be dad." He paused again. "I'm not, though." Aragorn now nodded.

"It's understandable. You're his big brother- It's what you do. You're not doing it to hurt him." Peter shook his head.

"Never." He sighed. "I probably should have told him that…" Aragorn clapped the teenager's shoulder.

"You'll have your chance, Peter. You'll have your chance."

* * *

The next day, everyone was a bit too tired in the morning for much talking during the walk. Susan took Peter up on an offer to share a horse so that she could sleep with her head on his shoulder. Gimli, though providing some wonderful comic relief the day before when trying to catch his renegade horse, decided to walk, as did Aragorn (alongside Éowyn, notably). Legolas ran up ahead and looked over the landscape as a sentry.

Two riders scouting ahead rode over a high, steep hill that led into a ravine which was bordered by a wall of solid, jagged stone. For about three minutes, there was calm.

Then the screams were heard.

Only those who were up front heard it. A shout followed the scream, but no one but Legolas could hear it clearly. It was alarming enough, however, for Peter to shake Susan awake. "What? What is it?" She mumbled.

"Something's happening," The urgency in his tone was enough to wake her. Susan's head shot up fully as Aragorn ran up the hill.

"Where?"

"Someone was just screaming, and then they yelled something- I don't know what-" Just then, Aragorn came running back.

"WARGS! WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!" He bellowed. All hell broke loose, and the women and children started screaming in terror. Apparently, everyone but Peter and Susan knew what "wargs" were. Aragorn and Gimli quickly remounted their horses as King Théoden rode to the front of the line.

"ALL RIDERS TO THE HEAD OF THE COLUMN!"

"Peter! Do you hear that?" Susan gasped. Peter listened hard, and- amidst the screams and cries of the refugees- he heard… Barking?

"Oh, this should be fun," He growled, directing the horse to the front of the column along with Aragorn. Théoden cast a quick, skeptical glance at Susan as she leapt from the horse and went to join Legolas. "Be careful!" Peter called after her. Aragorn caught Théoden's eye before he could voice his thoughts within earshot of Peter.

"Susan is an archer. She is one of our Fellowship, and every bit as valuable as warrior." Théoden was quiet, but then nodded his approval. Susan was not a girl of Rohan, and it was technically not within his right to tell her to step aside.

Susan reached the hill, joining Legolas. Over a smaller hill below, several large, hairy creatures came charging up, each up with an Orc-rider on their backs. "Are those wargs?" She whispered. Legolas nodded.

"They are twisted, demented creatures. A mockery of what we know as a wolf."

"They look more like a combination between a wolf and a lion," Susan muttered, pulling an arrow from her quiver and nocking it on the bow. Legolas did likewise, and they began to fire at the Warg-riders as the Rohan men charged up the hill.

"Be sure to get on a horse! There's nothing messier or more dangerous than being caught on foot in a battle of riders!" Legolas yelled as the barking and stomping of hooves grew louder. When the riders were close enough, Legolas grabbed a hold of the neck of Gimli's horse and swung on it one, spectacular motion. Susan was stunned- What could Elves _not_ do?

"Susan!" Peter held out his arm, and Susan jumped onto the horse as easily as she could, shaking with the worry that she'd fall. Peter withdrew his sword, and his sister nocked another arrow in the hopes of getting a clean shot.

This, however, did not happen.

Because as soon as the warriors met the Warg-riders, one particularly large warg jumped into the air and tackled their horse in one sweep, sending both Pevensies tumbling to the ground.

Peter was stunned, unmoving for a long moment. Susan was momentarily terrified that he'd impaled himself on his sword, and was relieved to see him climb to his feet. Other riders had been knocked off as well, but some were not as lucky as the two children; a few had been trampled by horses and wargs alike, and some others had been killed on impact.

Susan scrambled a few yards away, got her bearings, then turned around and fired off a few arrows. One struck an Orc, the other two hit a couple of wargs. Peter flew forward towards a dismounted Orc and engaged him in a fight, quickly killing it. Up ahead, Gimli had fallen off his horse again, but quickly stood up to attack a passing warg.

Fighting on foot wasn't as bad as Legolas had warned; the plain was large, and there were only about sixty or so combatants. The fighting was fast and furious, with little involved fighting and more decapitations. But soon, Susan found herself dodging between horses and wargs to get to Gimli, who had two dead wargs and a dead Orc piled on top of him.

"How did this happen?" She cried, grunting as she tried to push the top warg (one killed by Aragorn) off.

"Oh, don't bloody well ask me!" Gimli snapped. "Why couldn't the damned thing fall the other way?"

Peter spun around and sliced at a passing warg, sending it toppling to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly saw one particularly nasty looking beast jump at Aragorn and knock him off Brego, his current steed. "Aragorn!" Peter darted to the man's side. "Are you all right?"

"Yes- WATCH YOUR HEAD!" Peter felt something slam into his back, and suddenly he was being dragged across the plain at an alarming speed. What had happened was, one rider had seen the boy with his back turned, and decided to take advantage of the opportunity. Aragorn seized the Orc's arm and pulled himself up onto the back of the warg. He attempted to knock the Orc off, but the plan backfired, and he ended up being dragged along with Peter.

The Orc slashed at Aragorn, trying to get him off. They grappled for what seemed to be an eternity, and then the Orc fell away. Aragorn made to slash at the harness he was caught on, and Peter was still holding on of his own accord. "Peter, let go-"

Too little, too late.

The warg had charged straight at a cliff, and had built up far too much momentum to stop. Aragorn and Peter disappeared over the side.


	30. The Aftermath and the Dream

Gimli slammed his axe into a writhing warg. "Bloody things! I curse the name of whoever made them!" He spat. All of the wargs and their riders were either dead or had fled the battlefield. It had been bloody, and Susan realized grimly that their own numbers had been cut down significantly.

"I guess they did what they came to do," She murmured. "Kill as many of us as possible. Thin us out so that Saruman can do what he wants." Legolas was searching the rolling hills intently.

"Aragorn!" He called. "Aragorn!" Susan and Gimli approached him.

"Have you seen Peter?" Legolas shook his head.

"Aye, he and Aragorn have probably chased a rider down a ways off. They'll turn up any moment." Gimli said casually.

A few minutes passed, and there was no sign of Elessar or Pevensie. Susan started to feel queasy, and wondered if maybe Peter had been knocked out or otherwise injured somewhere nearby. "Peter? Aragorn?" King Théoden approached.

"What is it?" Susan attempted to keep her expression neutral. It only half-worked.

"Aragorn and Peter," She said quietly, numbly. "We can't find them. They-" Just then, she was cut off by a scratchy, hoarse laugh. It was a fallen Orc, cackling softly to itself as it died slowly from wounds to its torso. Gimli and Legolas seemed to get those same feelings in their guts that Susan had, and approached the Orc. Susan and Théoden approached cautiously as Gimli put his axe to the creature's neck.

"Tell me what happened, and I shall ease your passing," He snarled. The Orc gave a demented, evil little laugh, then coughed sharply.

"They're… _Dead…_" He snickered. "Your boys took a little tumble off the cliff…" He hacked wildly. Legolas knelt down next to the Orc, then yanked it up by the rags of cloth that it wore. Susan had never seen this look in his eyes before.

"You lie!" The Elf hissed. Théoden made for the cliff, and Susan followed. They looked over the side.

"He's lying," She whispered. "Peter couldn't. He wouldn't." But then Legolas and Gimli approached, and Legolas held something in his hands.

It was the Evenstar, Aragorn's pendant.

No. No. No. No.

Peter couldn't be dead.

Her bold, brave, stupid, lovable lug of a big brother, her pillar, her playmate since she was _born_, her constant companion could not be dead. Susan and Peter had had maybe three or four serious arguments in their entire lives- they always got along. They were a team. They were best friends.

Susan felt as though she would be violently ill.

Here she'd been so relieved that Edmund was still alive, and now fate had turned and taken her other brother from her.

They could see nothing in the river below. No bodies, no weapons, no clothing. No nothing. No trace. Vaguely, Susan heard Théoden ordering the riders to regroup. What she did hear, loud and clear, was his next order:

"Leave the dead."

Legolas looked shocked, as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Théoden's eyes reflected sympathy and empathy. But he had to be practical. "I am sorry." He said softly, lightly clapping Legolas' shoulder. He, Susan and Gimli remained for the longest moment, frozen. Then, numbly, dazed, the Elf and Dwarf turned away. Susan did not move.

"Lass," Gimli whispered, putting a hand on her arm. Susan did not look, did not feel. It wasn't like when she believed Edmund was dead- that was mixed with fear and dread and- more importantly- uncertainty. Peter's death had been so sudden, so abrupt, so… Unexpected. She felt shock, not sadness (yet). She felt as though someone had just ripped a chunk out her heart, her _soul_.

Legolas put an arm around Susan's shoulders, and he and Gimli carefully led her away.

* * *

The refugees had reached Helm's Deep safely, the Warg-riders never venturing beyond the battlefield. It seemed that some Rohan soldiers had already been there in the first place, watching over the fortress; not many, though. The food supply was short and the number of people was vast; If Susan hadn't been shell-shocked, she would be worried over it.

Gimli broke the news to Éowyn of Aragorn and Peter's deaths. She seemed like Susan, though not quite as deeply. After contemplating Aragorn's death with sorrow and horror, she fully processed the information that Peter was dead as well. Éowyn looked to Susan only to see Legolas leading her after the king- The poor girl looked hollow.

"Will she be all right?" She whispered to Gimli. Gimli sighed heavily.

"She nearly lost one brother to this conflict, and that was taxing enough on her heart. This…" He paused. "Susan is a stout girl compared to many you'll find, milady, but this will be something she'll never recover from. She loves all of her siblings, but I believe it was Peter she was closest to." Éowyn could understand that. When she and Eomer were of the same age, they were fairly close as well.

"One can only hope he's truly at rest," She murmured softly.

* * *

Not quite.

Peter was not what you'd call 'at rest'- in the 'dead' sense or the 'alive-but-resting' sense. He was half-conscious, clinging to Aragorn's prone arm as they were swept down the river. The waters they were in were actually very calm, but in Peter's half-dead fatigued state, they might as well have been in rapids. It took all he had not to drift off- he would surely drown.

Sometimes, he heard voices. He heard his mother and father, he heard Susan and Edmund and Lucy talking to him, telling him to wake up. He heard Boromir's horn, when Edmund had used it to wake him the day the Fellowship had left Rivendell on the quest. When they were all together. How long ago that was…

Sometimes, he heard the whistling and explosions of bombs, and the scream of the siren echoing through the desolate and debris-strewn streets. He heard Lucy crying for their mother. Heard Susan screaming for them to hurry for the shelter because the planes were almost on top of them. Heard the smashing of glass and felt the heat on his back as he and Edmund were curled on the floor of the living room…

Somewhere in that state of half-consciousness, they landed on a shore, and Peter- after using the last reserves of his strength to pull Aragorn and himself out of the water- finally blacked out from exhaustion.

* * *

"_Ha ha ha! I've got you whipped, Peter!" _

"_The hell you have!" _

_Susan gasped as though Peter had spoken the Forbidden Word. "I'm telling!" She declared, stomping her foot and running off. She was only three, but she was fast. _

"_Oh, come on Su! Don't be a tattle-tale! Daddy says it too!" _

"_And mummy yelled at him too, didn't she?" Susan called sweetly. "I'm telling Professor Kirke on you!"_

_Well, this was a great day: Susan had completely covered him in mud, their father was coming to pick them up in a few hours, and now she was going to tell Professor Kirke that Peter had said "Hell". He followed his little sister as she burst from the trees, running down to the road where the Professor was speaking with another gentlemen (A businessman, from the looks of him). _

"_Professor! Professor!" Professor Kirke laughed. _

"_Susan! Dear little Susan-" He pat her head when she reached him, and then his brow furrowed. "Where's your brother?" Susan's sunny smile beamed up at them. _

"_I whipped him, professor!" _

"_You whip-" Professor Kirke bit his lip. "Oh my…" He'd just caught sight of Peter, looking dejected. He was, however, pleased that Susan had been too caught up in her victory over him to remember him swearing. _

_Barely restraining a howl of laughter, Professor Kirke shook his head. "See, see Professor! I whipped Peter, and he's older than me!"_

"_You'd better not tell anyone about this, Su," Peter growled. "If any of my friends back home hear that my little sister got the better of me, I'll never be able to play with them again!" Professor Kirke released his laughter, beckoning Peter to him. Clasping each child's shoulders, he smiled at his guest._

_The man was tall- **very** tall- and carried a cane in one hand. He had short hair- Peter, from the lighting, couldn't tell if it was pale or dark- and a beard. His face was long. He smiled at the children. _

"_My dear friend," The Professor said, "Peter and Susan Pevensie- John and Helen's children. Their mother recently gave birth to their brother, and I was asked to keep them for a week while the adjustments were made to the house." _

"_I can't wait 'till Edmund's older- See if you can get the best of both of us, Susan." Susan merely gave her brother a cool smile. _

"_We'll see, Peter, we'll see." Professor Kirke smirked at them both. _

"_Your father's coming in an hour to pick you up. Clean yourselves up, or he'll never let you stay here again." Susan and Peter did as they were told, charging up to the large house._

_As they ran, though, Peter heard the tail-end of the conversation. "A breath of fresh air, friend; Rarely do I encounter children. I had best be going. I am expected in council."_

"_I hope to see you soon, friend. I shall try to visit you soon in I-"_

_Wake up. _

_Wake up. _

_Peter, wake-_


	31. The Coming Storm

"-up. Wake up, Peter."

Peter opened his eyes. It was Aragorn leaning over him, hand on his shoulder. The Ranger looked like death warmed over, but Peter sluggishly realized that he probably didn't look any better himself.

"Five more minutes." Aragorn shook him again.

"Don't fall back asleep. We have to get to Helm's Deep." Peter had to be helped into a sitting position.

"We're not in camp, are we?" Aragorn managed a small, weary smile and shook his head slowly.

"No such luck." He dragged Peter up and got him onto Brego's back with a great deal of difficulty. Peter did not question the horse's presence, chalking it up to delusion and an apparent head-injury. Aragorn climbed up behind the boy, cradling him against his chest. "Rest. I'll do the work." Peter was too foggy-minded to reply.

Much of the ride across the Plains of Rohan was lost in the flashes of unconsciousness that Peter succumbed to numerous times on the journey. One minute it was sunny, the next it was dark. He didn't care. He just let Aragorn (Or maybe it was more so Brego for a time) guide them along.

But at one point, Brego stopped. "Are we there yet?" Peter muttered, his head resting back on Aragorn's collarbone.

"No. Look." Peter opened his eyes, wincing- But then became a great deal more alert when he saw what Aragorn was referring to.

It was an army. Even from far off, Peter could tell that they wore all black, with only small specks of a white design on some of their weaponry and armor. "What are they?" He whispered, straightening up. Aragorn looked grim.

"They are Saruman's army." He shook his head. "This is what I feared. What Gandalf feared. Saruman and Sauron don't desire to destroy houses and villages and crops- they want to destroy _people._"

"There are so many of them… And they're heading to Helm's Deep, aren't they?" Peter muttered. Aragorn nodded.

"We must beat them there. Hold on." Though still heavily dazed from their adventure in the river, Aragorn spurred Brego on into a run. They ended up running clean through the night, never stopping, and reaching Helm's Deep in the morning of the next day. In the time, Peter revived a little as well. Enough to pass as alive, anyway.

The fortress was tucked into a ravine in the side of the mountain, just as Gimli had said back in Edoras. Aragorn praised Brego in Elvish, patting the horse's neck gently. They rode quickly to the fortress, loping up the long, stone bridge and to the large double-doors. The people inside seemed shocked to see them pass by- word of their "deaths" must have circulated quickly.

"He's alive!"

"What happened?"

"They're a mess!"

Aragorn carefully dismounted at the top of the stairs, helping Peter down. "Where are they? Where are they?" Came a gruff, familiar voice. "Get out of the way, I'm going to kill them!" Gimli pushed through the crowd angrily, stalking up to Aragorn and Peter. When he reached them, he said heatedly, "You are the luckiest, the canniest, the most reckless pair I've ever known! Bless you, lads!" He embraced his friends.

"Gimli," Peter choked. "Susan- Is Su alright?"

"Aye! Susan! Lass! Get down here right now!" Slowly, dejectedly, Susan descended the stairs, not registering the sight immediately. But then, she saw Aragorn and her brother, quite alive (though they looked like they'd been through the wringer) at the focus of the crowd, and she stopped dead.

"PETER!" Suddenly alive again, Susan sprinted down the steps and threw her arms around her brother's neck. But then, just as quickly, she pulled back and hit him hard on the chest. "You _idiot_! Peter Pevensie, if you _ever_ scare me like that again, so help me _God_, I'm going to-" She was cut off abruptly by Peter pulling her into a hug again. She left it at that.

* * *

"A great host, you say?" Aragorn had just told Théoden what he and Peter had seen on the plains.

"All Isengard is emptied, my Lord."

"How many?"

"Too many," Peter muttered, sitting on a bench in the dining hall where they were. He was tired, and would need rest before long, but he had no desire to miss out on this very important conversation.

"Ten-thousand strong at least." Théoden turned; the look on his face suggested that the king believed he had not heard correctly.

"Ten-_thousand?_" He stared at Aragorn, praying that he'd merely misspoken. But Aragorn had not.

"It is an army bred for a single purpose: To destroy the world of men."

"Finish what he started when he attacked us the other day," Susan murmured grimly, eyes narrowed. Aragorn nodded.

"Indeed. Saruman used the Warg-riders to thin our numbers, and now his army will be here by nightfall." King Théoden was stoically silent for a moment. Then, slowly, he turned and moved for his throne at the end of the room, pace increasing as he moved. He spoke only three words:

"Let them come!"

* * *

Susan had decided that Théoden was either senile, stupid, or too damn stubborn to do the smart thing and take his people and run for their lives. What was he planning on doing? "I want every man and strong lad able to bear arms to be ready by nightfall." He turned to Peter and Susan. "I take it that you will be participating?"

"Of course we will," Susan said coolly, sensing that the question had been more directed at Peter. While still maintaining a polite expression, she dared him with her gaze to order her to stay from the fight. But Théoden did not need much convincing this time; He'd seen Susan's skill on the battlefield a few days before, and in all honesty, he'd been impressed. She knew what she was doing, and she was valuable.

Théoden led them to the doors of the fortress, which were being reinforced in anticipation of the night to come. "We will cover the causeway and the gate from above. No army has ever breached the Deepening Wall or set foot in the Hornburg!"

"There's always a first time for everything," Peter growled softly, being careful to keep his sentiment under his breath.

"This is no rabble of mindless Orcs!" Gimli protested angrily. "These are fighting Uruk-Hai! Their armor is thick and their shields broad."

"We've fought them before, in the woods near the Anduín river," Susan said. "They're nearly seven feet tall, and they're insanely strong." Théoden paid little heed to their warnings.

"I have fought many wars. I know how to defend my own keep." He gave the two of them icy looks before stepping back inside.

"This man," Susan hissed through clenched teeth. "Is going to get us all killed." Aragorn motioned for her to keep her voice down, motioning subtly to the guards above.

They followed Théoden back inside as he further assured the others (Or maybe more so himself) of the impenetrability of Helm's Deep. "They will break upon this fortress like water on rock. Saruman's hordes will pillage and burn. We've seen it before. Crops can be resown; homes, rebuilt. But here in this fortress, we will outlast them."

But Peter remembered Aragorn's earlier words: That wasn't Saruman's aim, to destroy the villages of Rohan. Aragorn remembered as well, and he didn't keep his thoughts to himself.

"They do not come to destroy Rohan's crops or its villages- It comes to destroy her people, down to the last child!" The Ranger said desperately, trying once more to make Théoden see the reality that he did not wish to see. The king turned, and now it seemed that the words made a mark. He seized Aragorn's shirt and pulled him forward.

"What would you have me do?" He hissed. "Look at my men! Their courage hangs by a thread. If this is to be our end, then I would have them make such an end that would be worthy of remembrance!"

"So that's his plan? 'We'll all die anyway, so we might as well go out in style?'" Peter whispered, eyes narrowed. "Isn't there any hope left? Any chance that we might win this?"

"Yes," Legolas said. "But the outlook is still quite grim, Peter. Even if we manage to make it through the night and win the battle, Rohan is sure to suffer heavy casualties. It will be a hollow victory if there are only so many men to relish in it."

"Send out riders, my Lord! You must call for aid!" Aragorn entreated Théoden. The king turned around- not angry this time, but looking almost amused.

"And who will come?" He asked softly. "Elves? Dwarves?" He nodded back to Legolas and Gimli. "We are not all so lucky in our friends as you. The old alliances are as good as dead."

"Gondor will come." This seemed like a good, reasonable idea to Peter and Susan. After all, Gondor was Boromir's home country, and they were as much involved with the war as Rohan. Surely they would offer help. But the king seemed to think differently.

"_Gondor?_" Théoden's temper flared again. "Where was _Gondor_ when the Westfold fell? Where was _Gondor_ when our enemies closed in around us? Where was _Gon_-" He stopped, composing himself. "No, my Lord Aragorn… We are alone."

Except for the crows that flew overhead…

* * *

For all of you that love this story, I want you to get on your knees and thank your lucky stars.

My hard drive crashed about half a week ago, and the computer guy is basically unable to pull any files off the damaged drive.

HOWEVER: I had the sense to back up every story I OWN on a flashdrive, so the up and coming chapters of this story are safe and sound. If I had not, I would not be here. I would have thrown myself off my roof in utter despair.

ON YOUR KNEES. THANK WHATEVER DEITY YOU MAY OR MAY NOT PRAY TO.


	32. The Forbidden Pool

MAJOR shout-out to Floppyearsthebunny, who did a couple of rather amazing pieces of fanart for this story! They were absolutely lovely, and if anyone else wants to do fanart for The Hobbit, The Ring and the Fellowship, you're most welcome to! I've tried drawing scenes from the story, but...

Well. Let's just say they would make your eyes bleed.

Also: I'm touched that you all like this story so much. I'm not kidding; If I'd lost the upcoming chapters in this story, there would have been a huge hiatus while I moped and tried to work out of the immense depression to rewrite the chapters.

All right, I'm done rambling. Read on!

* * *

Lucy stumbled through the thick foliage after Sméagol, hoping that there weren't any ticks or blood-sucking leeches or mosquitoes around. "Sam?" She called. "Frodo? Where are you?" The days had been bad since they'd been separated. Sméagol knew the land pretty well, but recall that he had not entirely earned Lucy's trust just yet (It's a bit difficult to trust someone who was ready to throttle you in your sleep not too long ago).

This part of the forest was darker and leafier, and every now and then Lucy would see a shadow dart by out of the corner of her eye. She sincerely hoped that they were only animals, but kept her dagger out anyway. Lucy was jumpy, a side-effect to sleeping so little in the past few nights. Without Sam or Frodo, she had the gnawing fear that Sméagol would try to kill her in her sleep.

Sméagol had not said much since they were separated from the Hobbits, but he seemed incredibly twitchy and nervous, and seemed to be hacking (_gollum, gollum)_ a lot more often than he did before. He did not scream or wail or complain, leading Lucy to the conclusion that he may have been doing it more so to annoy Samwise than anything else.

They traveled at night a little, whereas before moonlight travel was limited. It was harder to see, and more likely to get hurt from tripping over something; particularly in such a dense forest like this one. While Lucy was trying to tug her cloak free from a rather tenacious branch, Sméagol froze up ahead. "Girlses! Sméagol hears water, we does!" Sméagol gasped with unrestrained glee, galloping forward.

Lucy didn't need to ask why Sméagol was so wildly excited. Where there was water, there was, most likely, fish. And a fish-filled Sméagol was a happy Sméagol. When she was done untangling herself, Lucy followed the sound of Sméagol's happy chirping all the way to, what appeared to be, the beginnings of a mountain. A high wall of rock stretched tall into the sky, a thin, clear waterfall streaming down it from an unseen source.

At the base of the wall was a fair-sized pond. Lucy wasn't certain there'd be fish in the pond, but she had no desire to bring down Sméagol's spirits. He leapt happily into the water, swimming with surprising ease as he searched. Lucy plopped down in front of a rock, facing away from the little pond, and shut her eyes, grateful for a chance to rest peacefully. If he was happy and had some fish, Sméagol was more likely to be quiet and let her think.

Finding Sam and Frodo was crucial. It wasn't Sméagol- She didn't trust him, but if there was anyone he would be a true threat to, it was more Frodo than her. But this land had proven to be a route for dangerous, "Evil" men, and there was no telling what might happen if a confrontation occurred between her and them. And while she could get to Mordor with Sméagol as her guide, there would be little point in the going if Frodo wasn't there with the Ring!

Sméagol must have found a fish, because a moment later, he broke out in song: "_The rock and pool is nice and cool, so juicy sweeeeeeeet!_" He began to smack the fish against the rock he was sitting on. A month ago, this would have bothered Lucy to no end; right now, she didn't care one way or another. "_Our only wish, to catch a __**fish**_-" Here, he grunted as he whacked the fish down. "_- So juicy sweeeeeeeet!_"

Lucy, if she hadn't been drained, might've laughed. Particularly at the grim humor that came around when Sméagol nearly lost the fish to its squirming and had to whack it comically against the rock a few more times.

"_Lucy_." Lucy's brow furrowed, but she didn't open her eyes.

Had someone just said her name?

No. Surely it was just the sound of the water.

"_Lucy!_" Again? This time, Lucy opened her eyes.

Frodo!

She was about to call his name in surprise and joy, but Frodo (Upon seeing that he now had her undivided attention), swiftly put a finger to his lips, motioning urgently for her to remain silent and come to him. Glancing back at Sméagol, Lucy did as Frodo gestured and approached him as silently as possible. Sméagol, intent on his fish, did not notice any of it.

"Frodo, what-"

"I have to be brief, Lucy," Frodo whispered urgently. "There are several Rangers poised above us with bows and arrows at the ready. I promised to come down and bring you and Sméagol up." He motioned to the path behind them. "I need you to go up that way. There will be a Ranger there- I promised that you wouldn't resist them if he didn't try to bind you. Can you go? While I get Sméagol?"

Lucy nodded breathlessly. "A-All right." Frodo nodded.

"Good. Go on, then." Lucy nodded again, and then slowly, steadily, made her way up the narrow pathway. She counted her heartbeats, waiting to catch sight of the Ranger and reminding herself that they were just like Aragorn- cloaks and mystery all the way. Nothing to be frightened of- they were the good guys.

"Stop." Lucy's breath caught in her throat and she nearly coughed. Freezing in place, she looked up at the tall, towering figure. He was middle-aged, perhaps, with pale, shoulder-length hair that was streaked with gray. The barest shadow of a goatee shown on his chin and upper lip. His gray eyes were piercing.

Lucy took one slow, deep breath, composed herself, and then gave her best smile to the man. Something flashed behind his eyes- confusion, maybe? It was gone in a second, and he directed her into the cave.

Suddenly, as she stepped in, Lucy heard Sméagol shrieking from behind. She had a mind to go back out, but the man was blocking her way now, and Frodo had promised them that she would go quietly if they didn't try to restrain her. So, reluctantly, she stepped further inside. There were many Rangers, all dressed similarly to Aragorn, only lacking in the comforting presence he provided.

"You are the companion of Mr. Baggins and Mr. Gamgee?" One Ranger approached her. He was younger- in his twenties, maybe- with shoulder-length brown hair and clear blue eyes. Something about him suggested a friendly demeanor, but at the moment he was all business. "And your name-" He stopped, suddenly, and squinted at her. "Are you a half- A Hobbit?"

"N-No…" The man regarded her warily.

"You are human?" Lucy nodded quickly. "How old are you?" Lucy hesitated.

"What month is it?"

"March."

"I'm eight(1)." The man looked taken aback.

"Mr. Baggins," He said flatly, "Did not inform me that he traveled with a child. Why is that?" Lucy shrugged.

"I don't know, sir." The Ranger stared at her for the longest moment, and then gestured for her to sit on a nearby crate.

"Were you among the company of thirteen that set out from Rivendell in December of the past year?"

"Yes, sir."

"What were the names of your companions?" Lucy was silent for a moment. The quest was, after all, a secret.

"I… I don't think I can tell you that."

"Can you tell me their races? Man, Hobbit, Elf or Dwarf? Or Wizard?" Lucy hesitated for a second… But then nodded.

"There was an Elf… Two Hobbits- I mean, apart from Frodo and Sam- a Dwarf… One Wizard, and…" Here she paused to count. "… Two men… Two boys and, including me, there were two girls." A ghost of a smile passed across the man's face.

"Can you tell me the names of the men?" Lucy paused. But then, her eyes caught on the symbol on the man's armor. Hadn't she seen that somewhere before? Wherever it had been, it must have given her a good feeling, because she answered truthfully.

"Aragorn and Boromir."

"You are acquainted with Boromir of Gondor?" Lucy's face lit up.

"You know Boromir? Is he here?" She asked lightly, looking around. The man lips twitched. "He is not. I was merely testing to be sure that you were telling the truth. And when I said 'Men', I meant humans. I did not know that there were young ladies traveling with the company."

His tone seemed nicer now, kinder, and Lucy nodded. "My sister and I." She glanced around. "Is Sam here?" The man nodded.

"He's elsewhere." There was another shriek from Sméagol, echoing through the caves, and the young Ranger stood up. "I will be back, Miss… Lucy, is it?" Lucy nodded. "Please remain here. I have another matter to attend to. You will see your friends soon." Lucy sighed and stared out of the hole in the cave wall, watching the full moon light the skies. The young man turned to the Ranger that had brought Lucy in. "Keep an eye on her. I don't think she'll run, but I'd rather not risk it."

* * *

1: OKAY, this is my fault; I found out about half way through writing the first Rohan chapters (Well, _remembered_ seems like a better term…) that in the book, Lucy is eight, _Edmund_ is ten, and Susan and Peter are somewhere around thirteen, fourteen and/or fifteen. To make this clear, here are the ages I'm sticking with from this point on:

Peter- 15

Susan- 14

Edmund- 10

Lucy- 8

No more confusion. I'll go back and edit all the other chapters to fit as soon as I can.


	33. The Entmoot

Sorry, folks, sorry!

I know I said I had loads of other chapters typed up, and I do, but… Geez, my only excuse is that I've been distracted by, primarily, school over these past four months. And honestly: My memory sucks. So while I'm writing this story, I'm literally watching the entire trilogy as I do, because if I _don't_, I'm going to forget something very key.

Believe it or not, when you're watching every inch of a nine to ten, possibly twelve hour long trilogy and writing chapters as you do, you get a little sick of it eventually.

Okay. Maybe a LOT sick.

As in, "Get me the hell away from here RIGHT NOW" sick.

But I should be getting back in gear soon. So in the meanwhile, here are some chapters to subdue you all.

ALSO: Has anyone else been experiencing some trouble unploading chapters? Well, I can upload them into Document Manager just fine, but all of the punctuation's gone when I do. That happening to anyone else?

* * *

"We Ents have not troubled with the wars of… _hmmmhmmm…_ Men and Wizards," Treebeard said. "For a very long time…" Here, they'd entered gigantic clearing with healthy, green grass and on large, pointed rock jutting out of the ground. "But now, something is… _hmmmhmmm_… About to happen that has not happened for… _hmmmhmmm_… An age." He gestured to the sky with one long, large limb. "An Entmoot."

"What's that?" Merry asked. Edmund shot the Hobbit an ugly look.

"I thought we agreed that we weren't going to ask Treebeard any more questions." He growled. This was justified- the last time they'd asked Treebeard what something was (After the Entwives), they'd gotten a two-day long explanation that, if Treebeard talked like a normal human, would only have lasted about an hour.

"'Tis a gathering…" Treebeard puffed.

"A gathering of Ents?" Boromir asked.

"Correct… _hmmmhmmm_… Young Boromir…" As he said this, a dozen or so more Ents thumped out of the trees. Some were as tall as Treebeard, others were shorter. Some were wider, some were thinner. "Beech… Oak… Chestnut… Ash… Good… Good… _hmmmhmmm_… Good. Many have come…" Edmund leaned towards Boromir, regarding the newcomers warily.

"These ones won't try to eat us, right?" He mumbled.

"I certainly hope not." Boromir cleared his throat. "Ah, why exactly have you organized this… Entmoot, Treebeard?" Treebeard glanced down at the human, then carefully reached up, took hold of the Hobbits, and carefully placed them on the ground with their friends.

"The Ents… _hmmmhmmm_… Must now decide if… We are to go to war… _hmmmhmmm_…" Treebeard said. Pippin and Edmund's eyes widened in surprise, but Merry looked excited and ready to go. Boromir put a hand on his shoulder.

"For the moment, at least, this is a council of the Ents. We have no role here. Let us step aside." He, Edmund, Merry and Pippin moved away from the Ents and to the side of the clearing, setting themselves under a tree and praying that it wouldn't try to eat them. Boromir sat on a large root, and then quietly motioned for Merry and Pippin to move away a little. Confused, they did so.

Then, Boromir beckoned to Edmund. "Ed." Edmund turned, saw the look on Boromir's face, and then shook his head.

"No way." Boromir's look became stern.

"Edmund, this is ridiculous. You're obviously in pain-"

"And I'm going to be in _more_ pain if you try to fix my arm," Edmund cut him off. "So _no_."

"You have to get it fixed sooner or later. You'll face the pain eventually, so why not now? What if between now and when you decide to get it fixed, there's another fight and you have a useless arm? Hell, it's not just useless, it's a hindrance!"

"It's not that bad," Edmund grunted.

"Liar."

"Shut up, Pippin!"

"Look, Edmund, be thankful that I'm even asking you; When I first dislocated my shoulder, I was afraid of the pain too and refused to have it done, so my uncle ambushed me and wrenched it back in without warning. No preparation, no nothing. I'm being nice, Edmund- Just let me put it back in, and I will never lay a hand on you again." Edmund's stomach churned, but then he silently walked over to Boromir. "I'll do it quickly." He stopped. "Would you like something to bite on?"

Edmund shot a glare at him, believing Boromir was joking. However, the man's face was quite serious. Edmund whimpered softly, and Boromir ruffled his hair in a comforting motion. "Hold still." He gripped Edmund's arm, and the boy squeezed his eyes shut. Boromir wrenched the arm down and back into the socket in one, clean motion, ending it quickly.

Before he could stop himself, Edmund let out a loud, pained yelp. He bit his lip sharply as tears streaked from his eyes. Goddamn, he'd been right- it really _was_ painful. And now he was embarrassed on top of it, because the Ents and Hobbits alike had heard the yelp and turned around to see what the ruckus was about. Merry and Pippin, at least, had the decency to turn away after a split second and regard the clouds above with sudden interest.

"There. All done. You're all right." Edmund drew in sharp, shaky, uneven breaths as he tried to keep control in spite of the burning, white-hot pain racing up and down his arm. Boromir unclipped Edmund's cloak and managed to make a makeshift sling from it to hold the arm up.

As the Entmoot went on, his three companions tried numerous times to cheer Edmund up, but for the time being he was in too much pain to pay attention. Eventually, he fell asleep against Boromir's arm; even apart from the pain, there wasn't much to do anyway. Pippin ended up nodding off as well.

When Edmund woke again, it was night. Merry had grown agitated, and was pacing furiously back and forth. Boromir was smoking his pipe, and Pippin was starting to stir as well. The pain in Edmund's arm was slightly more than a dull roar now, and much more tolerable than earlier. "What's going on?" He mumbled. Boromir removed his pipe from his mouth.

"Nothing… Just as it was when you dozed off. Trees talking in a language I couldn't learn if I dedicated my life to it."

"It's been on for hours!" Merry hissed, twisting his hands.

"You seem oddly intent on this, Merry," Boromir said, chewing on the end of his pipe. "Very excited. Why?" Merry shrugged.

"Well- I want them to do _something_. If they go to war and we go with them, we might find our friends, right?"

"True." Edmund muttered, eyes shut again. His fatigue betrayed his true emotion; he _did_ want to see his siblings again. Though, Susan would murder him on sight for being away for so long and scaring her half to death, undoubtedly.

"They've probably decided a lot of things by now," Pippin said cheerfully.

"Decided?" Treebeard had overheard. "No… _hmmmhmmm_… We've only just finished saying… Good morning… _hmmmhmmm_…"

"Oh God, we're going to be here until we _rot_," Edmund groaned. Boromir rubbed his temples. This was beginning to tax on his nerves.

"It's _nighttime_ already!" Merry said angrily. "You can't take forever! We're running out of time enough as it is!"

"At this rate, the war will be over and lost by the time you're done with your council, Treebeard," Boromir agreed.

"We must not be hasty… _hmmmhmmm_… With our decision… You must understand…_ hmmmhmmm_…"

"Treebeard," Boromir said with barely restrained frustration, "There is a time for caution and there is a time for action. You must understand that this war is being fought by men. We don't _have_ forever. This is happening quickly- Even more quickly than you think. Armies have been assembled, and they're moving swiftly. It won't belong until the real fighting starts!"


	34. Despair and Allies

Indeed, had they been spoken some hours before, Boromir's words would have been prophetic.

All of the able-bodied men (And Susan) were crushed into the armory, getting suited up and gathering weapons for the battle ahead. Peter and Aragorn had gotten some rest (The latter of which had nearly been knocked out by Legolas to have this accomplished), and looked considerably better than when they had arrived.

Neither Peter nor Susan had ever worn armor before. Their clothing had been simple; Susan, a green dress with a slip underneath, and Peter, a blue shirt with a leather covering. Now, Susan sported a blue shirt covered in a thick leather covering, and a long, two-layered skirt. It would take some getting used to in terms of fluid movement, but she would manage. Peter wore a chain-mail shirt under a dark brown one, and brown, thick-cloth pants.

Peter ended up braiding Susan's hair, knowing it would only get in her way during the battle. He had expected to get some serious ribbing from Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas for knowing how to braid hair, but then he remembered that he was in Middle Earth; Legolas wore a braid. Gimli's beard was often braided, and since Aragorn had been raised by Elves, he probably knew the arcane art as well.

It was interesting to be around boys his own age again; it was scary to see that some of them were Edmund's age. He might've struck up conversation with some of them, but sensed that they weren't in the mood for chatter. Some of the boys would try on helmets, and the gear would fall clean over their eyes.

"God," Susan whispered, shaking her head. "What is Théoden thinking?"

"He's thinking that everyone's going to die, Su, so they might as well make a good show of it." Peter muttered softly, being careful to be quiet. It wasn't a thought that needed to be shared with all concerned.

"Farmers, farriers, stable boys…" Nearby, Aragorn shook his head. "These are no soldiers." Gimli made an uneasy noise.

"Most have seen too many winters," He said.

"Or too few." Legolas' voice was bitter. "Look at them- they're frightened. I can see it in their eyes." …And a little too loud. The room went quiet, and Peter and Susan were then aware that everyone was staring at Legolas. Peter cleared his throat a little and blushed, while Susan glanced warily at Legolas. "_Boe a hyn: neled herain... dan caer menig!_"

"What did he say?" Peter whispered, brow furrowed, to his sister.

"Do I look like an Elf to you?" Aragorn, glancing apprehensively at the people around, replied in a much quieter voice,

"_Si beriathar hýn ammaeg nâ ned Edoras._"

"Aragorn!" Legolas snapped, eyes narrowed. "_Nedin dagor hen ú-'erir ortheri; Natha daged dhaer!_"

"THEN I SHALL DIE AS ONE OF THEM!" Aragorn roared suddenly, making everyone jump. The realization of their topic turned Susan's stomach to ice, and Peter swallowed thickly. Aragorn turned and stormed from the room. Legolas, realizing his error, made to go after him, but Gimli grabbed his arm.

"Let him go, lad. Let him be." Peter turned to Legolas.

"So- Care explaining what that motivational speech was? In English, if you please?" He was unable to keep a sarcastic edge from his tone. Legolas looked momentarily confused (Susan realized that the common language in this world wasn't 'English' since there was no England), but then shook his head.

"My apologies," He said, back to his quieter, humbler self. "If I've damaged your morale in any way, I am sorry."

"Legolas," Susan's arms were crossed. "What exactly did you and Aragorn say to one another?" Legolas looked pained and embarrassed.

"I said that everyone here should be afraid, because it would be three-hundred men against three-thousand. I also said that none of them would last the night, and that they would all die." Susan's eyes were wide in disbelief.

"Well! Now I know why you said it in Elvish!" She said flatly. The Elf looked away from her, wincing. "And Aragorn?"

"He merely said that the villagers have a better chance of defending themselves here than at Edoras."

"Really! How could you bring up a subject like that in a room full of people that are about to fight? You think their morale isn't low enough? They already know their chances are slim, but they're going out anyways, so at least give them credit for that!" While Peter felt bad for Legolas, it was refreshing to see Susan scolding someone aside from him for once.

"I'm going to go look for Aragorn," He mouthed to Gimli. The Dwarf nodded absently, taking great amusement at Legolas being hauled down a couple of pegs by a teenage human girl.

Peter found Aragorn on the steps near the dining hall. He was speaking to a young boy with long, stringy hair, who was suited up for the battle ahead. _Damn_, Peter thought. _Lucy could take this kid down. _As the boy walked away, though, Peter gave him an encouraging smile. "Picking up morale before the battle?"

Aragorn sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "It would seem that Legolas is not the only one with a pessimistic outlook on this fight." Peter gave a slight shrug.

"Well, who knows- We might actually walk away from this." He murmured. Aragorn smirked.

"And this from the boy who was ready to call it quits a week ago." Peter chuckled lightly.

"Yeah, well… Who convinced me not to on that?" He suddenly found a pebble at his foot intensely interesting, and he nudged it with his foot until he felt Aragorn clap a hand on his shoulder.

"You're a good man, Peter." Peter flushed with pride. "Boromir and I taught you all we could with a sword, and tonight's the night you really put it to the test." He became somber. "Tonight isn't a lightning-fast skirmish, Peter. It won't end quickly, and it will be close-quarters most of the way. We'll be looking at over ten-thousand enemies tonight. If you feel tired, or if you're injured, retreat inside. There is no shame in taking a break in a fight like this."

Peter nodded. "All right." Aragorn paused for a moment. Then, to Peter's shock, the Ranger pulled him in for a quick hug.

"You're a son to me, Peter. Be careful tonight." Peter, completely caught off guard, could only nod.

* * *

The battle was not far off. Aragorn went to put on the last of his armor while Peter checked in with Susan and Gimli. "You finally stop chewing poor Legolas out?" He asked his sister. She gave a little sniff.

"I guess. I think he got the message." Gimli snickered.

"Oh, he got it; Thirty times she told him how insensitive and stupid the comment was, and he got it." He grunted, and Susan tugged down on the heavy, human-adult-sized chain-mail shirt. "Ah, the hell with it, lass, I'll get it- Where's Aragorn and the pointy-ear?"

"Next room over," Peter said, tipping his head towards the main armory. The walked (Gimli more or less shuffled) over to find Legolas and Aragorn patching things up. They all watched in amusement as Gimli further attempted to get the mail completely over him.

"We had time, I'd get this adjusted!" Just then, the bottom of the shirt finally came down, the bottom two-inches resting flat on the ground. Aragorn and Legolas both cocked eyebrows at this, and Susan rolled her eyes.

"I think it might be too big for you, Gimli," Peter suggested carefully (One was very careful in choosing their words when bringing a Dwarf's stature into play).

"Just a little tight across the chest!" The Dwarf growled. His companions nodded, humoring him.

Just then, the sound of a horn echoed down the halls to them. "Are they here already?" Susan whispered, eyes widening. Legolas shook his head, the beginnings of a smile on his face.

"That is no Orc horn!"

They scrambled up the steps to the walls of the keep. As they climbed out, a call went out to open the gates. A group of people in dark blue, hooded robes, with long, golden-tinted bows and helms marched up the steps of the Hornburg, a few of which carried flags with a familiar symbol on them.

And who was at the head of them but the Marchwarden, Haldir?

He was dressed in armor, and unlike his comrades, he wore a red cape. He had no helm, and his silver-blonde hair glowed in the night. He bowed to King Théoden upon approaching him on the steps. The king was shocked, but not displeased.

"How is this possible?" He whispered. Haldir looked the human king in the eyes.

"I bring word from Elrond of Rivendell." He said. "'An alliance once existed between Men and Elves. Long ago, we fought and died together, side by side'." As he spoke, the few members of the Fellowship that were present descended the tops steps, just as surprised as Théoden. He nodded to them. "We come to honor that allegiance. And we are proud to fight alongside Men once more."

Aragorn grinned, descending the steps. "_Mae Govannen, _Haldir. You are most welcome!" He gave the Marchwarden a hug in the moment, and Haldir seemed a little uncertain as to what he should do. When Aragorn let go, Haldir turned back to King Théoden.

"Where would you like us positioned, my Lord?" Numbly, Théoden pointed to the outer wall.

"The… Ah… The outer wall is where you'll get the best aim, if you are all archers…" He said. Haldir bowed to him again, and then motioned for his soldiers to take their positions along the wall. It was then that, to Susan's chagrin, Haldir turned to her.

"Miss Pevensie. It's a pleasure to see you again." Susan gave a slight, nervous little laugh.

"A pleasure to see you as well, Haldir…" Haldir cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Is that all? Where is the fiery attitude I witnessed in Lothloríen?" Susan went crimson, and Peter grinned, grasping his sister's shoulders from behind.

"Oh, you don't want to see her fiery again, Haldir," He said wickedly. "Once she gets like that- OW!" Susan had turned and whacked him in the head. Susan smiled apologetically at Haldir.

"I'm… I'm sorry, for that. I'm not usually like that… Just…" She gave another anxious laugh and rubbed the back of her head. Haldir offered her a small smile.

"Grieving, and such. I understand. I look forward to fighting alongside you tonight." He said. Susan smiled.

"Likewise." Haldir went off to join his company, and Peter leaned over to Susan with a Cheshire-cat grin on his face.

"You know, Su, you went awfully _red_ when you were talking to him-"

"Shut up!"


	35. The Battle For Helm's Deep

One steaming-long chapter for you!

* * *

The scene was completely and totally silent.

The only sound present was the thunder above them and the thunder in the distance, accompanied by many small pinpoints of light. The wind blew gently, stirring hair and the feathers on the ends of arrows. Everyone was deathly somber, and everyone was silent.

Well. With one exception.

"You could have picked a better spot!" Poor Gimli was a tad too short to see over the Deepening Wall. Legolas only smirked in response, and Susan and Peter managed to offer small grins. This could very well have been their last time hearing Gimli grumble at Legolas. Aragorn came up behind them, eyes boring out at the approaching Uruk-Hai army. "Well, lad," Gimli muttered to him. "Whatever luck you like by, let's hope it lasts the night."

Thunder rolled overhead, and a flash of lightning illuminated the sky. The entire situation was sickeningly foreboding, and Peter felt as though his heart would jump out of his chest, it was beating so fast. The Uruks were momentarily illuminated… And there were even more than Peter remembered seeing before. Susan grasped his arm, though her expression was of stony solemnity.

"Your friends are with you, Aragorn." Legolas whispered.

"Let's hope they last the night." Aragorn nodded, clapped Legolas' shoulder and gave a nod to his friends before walking away. The thunder cracked again, and the lightning flashed. A moment later, it started to downpour. Peter shivered.

"Perfect." He murmured. "Great start to the evening."

The rain landing on armor sounded like small pebbles on a tin roof, and in spite of the rain, nobody moved and nobody spoke further. All eyes were trained on the army, which seemed to take forever getting near. Many of the Uruks, they now saw, carried pikes, flags and torches. As they moved, their armor added to their weight made every step into a miniature earthquake. One could only wonder what it sounded like to the women and children in the caves below.

One Uruk, presumably a general or a lieutenant or whatever high rank the Uruk-Hai gave themselves, had climbed onto a large rock. Amidst his vast army, he raised a jagged metal sword high in the air and let out a guttural, shuddering cry. The armies did not stop, so it was presumed to be a war cry.

"_Eruchin, ú-dano i faelas a hyn_," Aragorn was yelling to the Elvish soldiers as he marched between their ranks. "_An uben tanatha le faelas!_"

"'Show no mercy,'" Legolas translated quietly for Peter, Susan and Gimli, never taking his eyes from the army. "'For you shall receive none.'"

The Uruk on the rock let out another cry, this one louder, deeper and steadier. This time, the army came to a stop close to a hundred yards from the Deepening Wall. By now, everyone was soaking wet. Peter wondered what the Uruks were doing; Did they plan on hitting them with archers first?

"What's happening? What's going on?" Gimli asked anxiously, hopping furiously and renewing his attempts to see over the wall again.

"Shall I describe it to you?" Legolas asked lightly. He looked down at Gimli. "Or would you like me to find you a box?" Susan and Peter, so tense and terrified, couldn't help but laugh. Gimli did as well, though it was purely sarcasm.

The Uruk on the rock let out a third cry, tilting his head back. Then, all of the Uruks in the front (Maybe in the back as well- they couldn't see) began to slam their pikes and spears onto the ground.

_BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. _

"What are they doing?" Peter asked softly.

"Scaring us." Susan remarked in a low voice. "They're showing us their numbers. I suppose they think they're being flippant." The archers all drew arrows from their quivers and nocked them, aiming for the front line. The Uruks were roaring along with their spears now, hollow grunts and animalistic roars echoing through the ravine.

"_DARTHO!_" Aragorn bellowed suddenly. Legolas looked stricken.

"What? What is it?" Peter asked, looking around.

"Somebody let loose an arrow before the command." Legolas whispered. "Prepare yourselves. They'll charge now." He was right. The Uruk on the rock let out one final, enraged cry, and the entire army began to pound towards the wall. Aragorn called for the archers to prepare to fire. Legolas said something, but it was lost to the Pevensies over the roar of the Uruk-Hai and the beating of their hearts.

"RELEASE THE ARROWS!"

And so, the battle began.

A wave of arrows tore into the line, and a great number of Uruks in the front fell dead. "Did they hit anything?" Gimli cried.

"FIRE!" A volley of arrows rained down from the ramparts behind them, striking more of the enemy down. Soon the darkened space of the ravine was filled with arrows striking down from Helm's Deep into the number of Uruks below. Susan never watched her arrows fly- as soon as one was off, she was stringing up another. However many they managed to cut down, too many more were still running at the wall.

"SEND THEM TO ME, COME ON!" Gimli roared, shaking his axe. To their left, one Elf was hit with a crossbow bolt and went tumbling off the wall into the sea of Uruk-Hai below. Many more were hit with bolts from below, the enemy's number too dense to discern where they were coming from. Some fell forward off the wall, others tumbled back onto the courtyard below.

Peter peered over the wall, and his stomach dropped to his feet. The Uruk-Hai had ladders, which they were now swinging up to the wall. "LADDERS!" Aragorn called to the combatants. "SWORDS! SWORDS!"

"Good!" Gimli barked, hefting his axe. "The aim, children, is to knock them off the walls. They'll be heavy, but try!" Peter nodded. In one, fluid and smooth motion, everyone on the Deepening Wall had unsheathed their swords, bringing them up to point at the rising ladders. One Uruk, completely without armor, leapt off the top of the ladder and launched themselves onto the wall only to be cut down by Gimli.

Now the real fighting began.

The armor-less Uruk-Hai were more vulnerable, but they were also a good deal bigger and stronger than their comrades. One struck at Peter, and he was immediately thrown back. The Uruk-Hai jumped forward to finish him off, but Peter rolled to the side and the sword smashed into the ground. The teenager jumped up and slashed his sword at the Uruk's stomach, making it screech. He swung around to its back and slammed the tip of the sword through, fatally wounding it.

Susan relied more heavily on dodging to avoid being killed. She had her short sword, and often jumped as swiftly as she was able around the Uruk-Hai while slashing at their torsos, necks and legs. Neither she nor her brother had sustained anything but bumps and bruises so far, and she prayed that it would remain that way.

Their friends were faring well so far as well. "Legolas! Two already!" Gimli roared, having the time of his life. Legolas grinned back.

"I'm on seventeen!"

"WHAT? I'LL HAVE NO POINTY-EAR OUTSCORING ME!" The dwarf roared. He turned around and slammed his axe into the groin of an Uruk-Hai on a ladder, striking it in the back as it fell.

Aragorn was fighting like a madman, cutting down Uruk-Hai left and right, and then managing to kick a ladder off the wall. This was a back-fire on the part of the Uruks: they'd made the ladders heavy enough to make it difficult to kick them off the wall, but when one of the ladders fell on _them_, it was enough to crush a good number of them to a pulp.

But more ladders were coming, and the fight wasn't anywhere near over.

* * *

"SEVENTEEN, EIGHTEEN, NINETEEN, TWENTY! TWENTY-ONE, TWENTY-TWO, TWENTY-THREE…" Peter wasn't sure how long they'd been fighting. An hour, maybe two by this point? While he thought it wasn't the best idea to be focusing on beating each other in this situation, the sound Gimli and Legolas' counting when in earshot was a sign that they were both still alive and kicking.

Peter had lost track of Susan some time before, but he didn't have time to worry about her at the moment. With every Uruk he killed (And he was getting the hang of close-quarters fighting very quickly) brought a new one charging up and screaming for his blood. Peter had received two slash wounds on the left of his stomach not so long ago, and a particularly hard hit with the flat of someone's blade (Uruk, Elf, Human, he didn't know) made moving on his right leg rather painful.

The Uruks' numbers had not noticeably thinned in the time since the battle had begun, and Peter was counting the moments until he could see the end of their numbers in the valley. He feared becoming tired, knowing that he would be prone to slips and possibly a sword to the neck. No one else had tired yet, though, and so he battled on.

Susan was on the middle of the Deepening Wall with Haldir and Aragorn, striking Uruks with her sword and firing off arrows when she could. "Are you holding out?" Haldir called to her, spinning around to decapitate an Uruk.

"I'm fine! And you?" She jabbed her sword into another Uruk-Hai's neck.

"I am well. Your sword-craft is excellent!"

"Thank you!" Down the way, Susan heard Aragorn screaming something frantically to Legolas in Elvish. But as she was currently preoccupied, she paid little heed to whatever they were doing.

**_KA-BOOM!_**

Susan felt herself being thrown through the air, tossed like a rag-doll. She was in such a state of disarray that she was unable to tell whether she was being thrown up or down. The ground she landed on was stone- she was still on the wall- but it was covered in rock and dust and blood…

Peter's heart had very nearly stopped when he'd heard the explosion. Weren't they through hearing those? He could have sworn that Middle Earth didn't have bombs! None the less, it was real, and Peter was knocked clean off his feet from the rumbling and shaking.

The middle section of the Deepening Wall had been completely blown away. Everyone there had either been killed instantly or thrown several yards away. Large rocks flew through the air, landing on Human, Elf and Uruk-Hai alike. Peter could see Legolas just left of the immediate explosion sight, but could see none of his other companions. "_Susan!_" Peter roared over the din. "_Aragorn! Gimli!_"

"Susan!" Susan felt herself being shaken. She had been stunned by the explosion and being flung so suddenly. Haldir was crouched next to her, a hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right? Talk to me!" Susan sat up, dizzy.

"I… I'm all right… What…?"

"The Uruk-Hai used an explosive device. They blew open the wall." Haldir said quickly, pulling her to her feet.

"Damn it all! Peter was right!" Susan cursed, recalling Peter's words from earlier: "There's a first time for everything". Precisely what he'd said when Théoden had told them that no one had ever breached the Deepening Wall. Down below, the Uruk-Hai were beginning to flood in through the breach, splashing through the water that was left from the culvert. "Oh no- Aragorn!" Susan cried, pointing down.

Haldir looked to see Aragorn, seemingly unconscious in the debris-strewn courtyard below before the mass of Uruks filtering in. In a moment, he seemed to stir, slowly starting to pick himself up. Haldir tugged on Susan's arm and they both darted down the steps to the courtyard, where several of the remaining archers were gathering.

"ARAGORN!" To Susan's shock, Gimli, shrieking a war-cry, leapt off the broken, right half of the wall, swinging his axe like a Dwarf possessed. "_KHAZAD-DUM!_" He bellowed, crashing into the wave of Uruks and cutting them down.

"Your Dwarf friend is mad!" Haldir whispered.

"Clearly!" Aragorn stood up and screamed for the archers behind him to fire, Haldir and Susan quickly joining their ranks.

"CHARGE!" The group charged head-first down the hill, swords drawn against the invaders. They knocked aside the Uruks' pikes and cut into them, meeting them stroke for stroke. Legolas and Peter flew down into the courtyard, swinging madly at the Uruk-Hai in aid to their friends. But now, things were ugly.

They'd had a chance when they'd had the wall. They'd had a chance when only a few Uruk-Hai could come at a time. But now…

"ARAGORN!" King Théoden boomed. "FALL BACK TO THE KEEP! GET YOUR MEN OUT OF THERE!"

"TO THE KEEP! TO THE KEEP! RETREAT!" He called up to Haldir, who'd returned to the top of the wall to rescue one of his men. Peter, Legolas and another Elven warrior had to physically drag Gimli to the keep, as he was unwilling to retreat.

"Fall back!" Haldir called. "Fall back!" Susan happened to turn and look up at him then- Just in time to see an Uruk-Hai stab him in the side and break his arm simultaneously. Haldir managed to kill him anyway, but he was gravely injured. A moment later, the Uruk-Hai from earlier- the one commanding the others from the rock- came up behind him, sword raised-

"HALDIR!"

An arrow flew over his shoulder and struck the Uruk in the neck. Susan ran up to him, placing a hand on his chest to keep him upright. "Come on!" She cried, pulling his good arm over her shoulder and helping him down the steps.

"Leave me!" He hissed at her. "There are too many- You'll be killed!"

"Oh well!" Susan snapped back at him, continuing to help him limp. Haldir wanted her to leave him, but he couldn't force her to. Resisting would only slow her down, and that would defeat his point.

"You are a stubborn girl," He whispered, shaking his head.

* * *

Inside, the Uruks had managed to smash a hole through the main gates. King Théoden had received a pike to the chest, and was leaning against the wall, grimacing. Peter, Gimli and Aragorn rushed in, hacking at the Uruks as they attempted to climb in. Two Rohan soldiers had been killed already, and the others were trying valiantly to keep the main fortress from being penetrated.

"Hold them!" Théoden cried to Aragorn.

"How long do you need?"

"As long as you can give me!" Théoden said, taking up his sword again. Aragorn turned to Peter and Gimli and ushered them to a side passage that led to a small outcropping of rocks near the bridge. The door was not visible to the Uruks, and so the three went unnoticed. "Brace the gates! Timbers!" They heard Théoden call dimly from inside. Aragorn slid forward first, then Gimli, then Peter.

"Step lightly," He whispered. "The rain has made them slippery." He peered around the edge of the wall. The Uruks were only a few yards away, hammering at the door with their swords. Gimli was eager.

"Come on! We can take them!" He hissed excitedly, jumping a little. It was then that Aragorn turned to Gimli and calmly raised his eyebrows.

"It's a long way." He said simply. Gimli made a little huffing noise, examined the distance, and then became still.

"Toss me." Aragorn tilted his head down.

"What?"

"I cannot jump the distance, you'll have to toss me!" Peter was confused; Why did this seem so familiar?

Oh… Wait a moment…

Flashback to Moria, "_Nobody tosses a Dwarf!_" Peter grinned.

"I thought nobody could toss a dwarf," He whispered. Gimli gave the boy a simmering look. Aragorn chuckled, then reached down to get a hold on Gimli.

"Ah, ah, wait!" He looked pleadingly at Aragorn. "D-Don't tell the Elf?" He glared at Peter. "You either!" Aragorn smiled.

"Not a word." With a great grunt, he heaved Gimli up and tossed him to the bridge. With a loud battle-cry, Gimli leapt onto the Uruks and knocked them from the bridge. "Would you like to be tossed, Peter?" Peter grinned.

"I'll pass." They leapt, one after the other, from the outcropping and onto the bridge. They didn't even need to stab the Uruks to kill them- a fall from the bridge would be enough to do it. This was slightly unappealing, however, with the consideration of accidentally knocking Aragorn or Gimli off as well.

Behind them, Peter could hear Théoden and his men frantically barricading the door with poles and slabs of wood. It took them maybe ten minutes to secure it satisfyingly, before Théoden called to them, "Get out of there! The door's secure!" It was at this time that an Uruk jumped onto Gimli and Aragorn, presumably trying to strangle them (Or at least hold them still long enough for its friends to get up).

"Aragorn!"

Legolas threw them a rope from the wall above. "Go!" Aragorn yelled to Peter. Not bothering to wait for the rope to steady itself, Peter jumped from the bridge and onto the rope. To his terror, his grip slid for a moment, and he almost fell. He regained it, however, and tried to force his heart back into a normal rhythm. He felt the weight on the rope increase, and knew that Aragorn and Gimli were right below him.

Legolas pulled them up onto the wall as he was covered by four other Elves. Once they were up, they retreated to the keep. Now everyone had been ordered to; The Uruks had completely breached Helm's Deep, and they were flooding in by the hundreds. For now, the battle was on pause.


	36. Bringing the Ents Around

Well, I've read your reviews, and trust me, I'm going to try as hard as possible to incorporate some more "not-in-the-movie" scenes. I should be trying harder with those.

You know, bringing Boromir back is nice in theory, but it's a real _pain_ when you realize that several crucial points in the story rely on him being dead.

* * *

"What do you suppose we do if they say no?"

Boromir looked over at Pippin and sighed. "It means… The Ents won't help. We'll leave Fangorn and try to find Aragorn and the others." His eyes glazed a little. It was obvious to Merry, Pippin and Edmund that he was not looking forward to facing Aragorn and the others again, and having to explain what he'd done.

"I wonder what they're up to now?" Pippin mumbled.

"They're probably fighting, or helping to mobilize people for the war. Doing something useful." Merry grunted. "I hate this! I hate sitting and waiting when we should be out helping our friends!"

"If we can convince the Ents that it would be in their best interest to help us, Merry, then believe me: All of the waiting will have been worth it." Boromir tried to soothe the Hobbit's singed nerves.

"Not if Aragorn and the others get killed trying to help while we sit on our duffs and wait for them to finish their bloody council!" He started to pace again, shaking his head angrily.

"You all right, Boromir?" Edmund muttered, squinting at the man. Boromir sighed.

"Yes, Edmund. I'm fine." The boy's eyes narrowed sharply.

"Liar. Tell me." Boromir snorted lightly.

"You know, this may anger you, Edmund, but when you glare at me like that, you remind me eerily of Susan." He was silent for a moment. "I have much to answer for, Edmund. I've betrayed the Fellowship. The others will know that. They shall not forgive me as easily as you three have."

"They'll get over it eventually." Boromir sighed, a little irritated.

"It's not that simple, Edmund," He said, trying to be patient. "When you betray someone, you never _truly _get their trust back. Never fully."

"It's not like they can talk!" Edmund burst out, jumping up and startling Merry and Pippin. "They felt the pull of the Ring too, didn't they? They know what it's like! How could they blame you for something that could just as easily have happened with them?"

"Simply because it _didn't_ happen to them, Edmund!" Boromir hissed. "Do you not understand? I was the weakest willed of the Fellowship! I was the only one who succumbed to the Ring's call! I don't…" He choked. "I… I don't deserve to be forgiven. Least of all by Frodo."

Edmund gave Boromir a stony look.

"If you give off that 'I'm so miserable, I've betrayed my friends and they'll never like me again' attitude, no one _will_ forgive you, Boromir. They'll pity you!" He put his hands on his hips. "I'm telling you this as your friend, Boromir! Suck it up and get over it! How can you expect them to forgive you if you can't forgive yourself!"(1) Boromir stared at raven haired boy for a moment. Then, slowly, he smiled.

"And once again," He said quietly. "You've snapped me out of it, Edmund. Thank you." Edmund nodded, puffing up a little.

"No problem. That's what friends are for." He sat back down.

There was silence for a time.

"Ed?"

"What, Pip?"

"You know, when you put your hands on your hips like that and started lecturing, you really _did_ look like Susan."

"Oh, shut up before I feed you to one of the trees."

* * *

So much later in the evening, Treebeard turned to the Hobbits and the Humans. His expression was hard to read (Mainly because he only had _one_), but Edmund had a sense that the news wasn't good. He exchanged a hopeful glance with Boromir though, hoping that the Gondorian's words had made an impact. The four Fellowship members stood hopefully before the Ent.

"We have just agreed… _hmmmhmmm_…" It was here that Treebeard seemed to nod off for a moment. The four Fellowship members exchanged confused looks.

"Yes?" Merry prompted him. Treebeard awoke again, and continued. Boromir shook his head; He wasn't entirely certain now that the Ents would be of great _help_ to their side, particularly if they were all like Treebeard…

"I have told your names… _hmmmhmmm_… To the Entmoot… And we have agreed that… _hmmmhmmm…_ You are _not _Orcs."

There was a moment of total silence.

Then, Edmund cracked.

"Jesus Christ, _I thought we established that **three days ago!**_" He howled. "Is that all you've been talking about for the past ten bloody hours? Not all of us are going to live as long as you! Time doesn't slow down for y-" Here, Boromir slapped a hand over Edmund's mouth. No need to anger the talking tree.

"What about Saruman? Have you come to a decision about him?" Merry asked through clenched teeth.

"Now, now, Master Meriadoc… _hmmmhmmm…_ Don't be hasty…"

"_Hasty?_ Our friends are out there! Our cousins! Edmund's brother and sisters! They need our help- They cannot fight this war on their own!"

"War… Yes… It affects use all… _hmmmhmmm_… Tree, root and twig… But you must understand, it takes… _hmmmhmmm_… A long time to say anything in Old Entish, and we never… _hmmmhmmm_… Say anything unless it is worth taking a… _hmmmhmmm…_ A long time to say it. The Ents… Cannot hold back this storm."

"Oh, great," Boromir whispered.

"We must… _hmmmhmmm_… Weather such things as we have always done.

"How can that be your decision!" Merry cried.

"This is… Not our war."

"But it will be!" Boromir said angrily. "Do you think that if he wins, Saruman will leave you in peace? He will burn Fangorn to the ground! You will stand by and watch your home go up in flames?"

"You're part of this world! Aren't you?" Merry yelled at the Ents. They all looked at each other, exchanging unreadable glances. "You must help us- Please! You must _do_ something!"

"If it doesn't affect you now, it will later- Especially is Saruman wins!" Edmund said. Treebeard regarded them sadly.

"You four are young and brave," He said softly. "But your parts… _hmmmhmmm_… In this tale are over. Go back to your homes."

"Right," Boromir whispered, lip curling back. "Go back to Gondor. If it's still _there_ by now."

"We're not done with this," Edmund snapped. "We're going to find Gandalf and our friends. If you think I can just waltz back home without Peter, Susan and Lucy-"

"Calm down, Edmund." Boromir muttered, casting an angry gaze at Treebeard and the Ents. "We're not going home." He turned to the Hobbits and beckoned them from where they'd been speaking softly between themselves. "With your leave," He said to the three of them, "We could go to Ithilien. My brother, Faramir, is a Ranger there. He will know of the enemy's movements, and we might be able to combat them that way."

"What about Aragorn and the others?" Pippin asked. "Shouldn't we look for them?"

"They could be anywhere by now. I suspect in the long run that our paths will cross, but for now we should go get informed as to what the situation at large is." Merry, still icy about the Entmoot's verdict, nodded.

"Fine. Whatever." Edmund put a hand on his shoulder.

"It'll be all right, Merry. This isn't over by a long shot." Merry shook his head grimly.

"That's not what's gotten to me. It's the fact that the Ents don't understand that this will affect them more than they think. They think that if they sit around and brace themselves, they'll be fine. And they _won't_."

* * *

"Can you bring us to the Fangorn border of the West Emnet Gullies, Treebeard?" Boromir asked. Treebeard gave one of his slow nods.

"Of course… You path is to… Ithilien, yes?"

"Yes. We're-"

"Wait! Stop!" Pippin cried suddenly. Treebeard stopped walking, and everyone looked up at the youngest of the Hobbits. "Turn around and take us south. We can follow the mountains to Ithilien."

"South?" Treebeard huffed.

"Pippin, are you mad? That'll bring us right under Saruman's nose!" Boromir hissed. "It's too dangerous! And I'm almost certain we'd be taking the longest way there!"

"Ah," Pippin said with a conspiratorial gleam in his eyes. "But it's the last thing that Saruman will expect. He would never think we're dumb enough to get that close."

"And it would seem we _are_ dumb enough, then?" Boromir asked dryly. Treebeard bru-hoomed for a moment.

"Well… _hmmmhmmm_… That doesn't make sense to me… But I suppose you could slip by him… _hmmmhmmm…_ You are, after all, quite crafty… South it is, then…"

"But-" Edmund shook the man's arm with his still-stinging arm.

"No, Boromir- Just roll with it!" He whispered.

"But we'll be going miles out of our way just to risk our lives!" Edmund shook his head furiously.

"No, no- I don't think we're going to end up seeing your brother just yet, Boromir. As crazy as this sounds… I think Pippin has a plan, and I think I know what it is."

* * *

"And those little family of field mice that climb up sometimes… _hmmmhmmm_… They tickle me mercilessly! They're always trying to get some where they…" Treebeard was regaling his companions with another fascinating tree-story when they reached the end of the trees.

Unfortunately, there was supposed to be another mile or so of trees before the end of the forest.

The land was bleak, the sky cloudy. Stumps from trees jutted from the ground, torn and mangled and dead. Treebeard was completely silent for a moment, distraught. Boromir and Merry finally caught on to Pippin's plan.

"Pippin, you clever little Hobbit," Boromir whispered, eyes scanning the ruined area. "This was his plan all along, wasn't it?" Edmund grinned.

"A visual aid always helps," He murmured.

"Many of these trees… Were my friends…" Treebeard whispered, sorrow evident in his voice. "Creatures I had known from nut and acorn… They had voices of their own…"

"I'm sorry, Treebeard." Pippin said softly. Treebeard seemed not to hear him, as his thoughts were becoming angry and bitter. His yellow eyes were focused on the smoke rising from the black tower in the distance.

"_Saruman_…" Edmund was starting to become unnerved. Treebeard had not done his '_hmmmhmmm_' thing in a while now. "A Wizard should know better!" Taking in a slow, deep breath, Treebeard tilted his head back and let out a loud, grating, billowing cry that echoed across the mountains.

"Think we convinced him?" Edmund muttered. Boromir nodded, eyes wide.

"Safe bet, safe bet…"

"There is no curse in Elvish, Entish… Or the tongues of Men… For this _treachery_…"

"The trees are moving!" Pippin gasped from atop Treebeard's head. And indeed, it was; the edge of Fangorn was creeping and creaking forward, moaning loudly in pain and anger.

"Where are they off to?" Merry asked.

"_They _have business with the Orcs," Treebeard growled. "But tonight… _I_ have business with Isengard. With rock and stone." At this, echoing, watery cries sounded from the trees of Fangorn, accompanied by the sound of many giant feet crashing down on the forest floor. The Ents appeared from the trees, lurching along to join Treebeard.

"Yes!" Merry hissed.

"Come, my friends!" Treebeard puffed. "Young Masters Boromir and Edmund, allow yourselves to be ferried by Quickbeam. The time for haste has come. The Ents are going to war." He started to walk again as Quickbeam carefully placed Boromir and Edmund on his branch-shoulders. "It is likely… That we go to our doom. The last march… Of the Ents!"

And so, the very land of Middle Earth marched off to fight in the war.

* * *

1: By George, I think I've given Edmund the most ironic speech of the story…


	37. Surviving Osgiliath

They were bound for Osgiliath, the former capital of Gondor. Lucy really didn't see why they had to travel with the Rangers, particularly bound and guarded, but she didn't quite have the stomach to contest some of these rather frightening looking men. Sam had been quite glad to see her, but they'd had little time for talk. The Rangers moved out almost immediately the next day.

Their leader, it seemed, was the young man who'd questioned Lucy; Faramir, was his name. Sam said that he was Boromir's little brother. This had given her great reason to relax- Boromir had spoken highly of his brother to the Fellowship, calling him kind and gentle. Faramir was a soldier, however, and had to be tough now; he didn't quite trust Frodo, Sam, Lucy and Sméagol.

The sun didn't show its face from behind the clouds on the day they arrived. Lucy was walking behind Sam, Frodo and Faramir, head down, when the cry went up: "Look! Osgiliath burns!" She looked up.

The hill they were standing on gave a clear view of a city on the river. Curling funnels of black smoke twisted into the air, and flames were visible on one end of the city. "What's happened to it?" She asked the Ranger next to her. He stared at her gravely.

"Mordor has come," He said simply, before moving on.

* * *

Osgiliath was a mess.

Lucy could only equate Osgiliath's appearance to what London looked like after a couple of air raids. The buildings were crumbling, large chunks were missing from some, and debris littered the streets from battles passed. Soldiers- Gondorian ones, from Boromir and Faramir's home city of Minas Tirith, ran through the streets of Osgiliath in time, and they soon found out why.

Once they reached the heart of the city, they found that an unseen enemy was hurling gigantic rocks into the city via a catapult some ways off. The trajectory was off, though, and many merely crashed into the river that ran through Osgiliath and split it in two. The Rangers darted through the ranks of soldiers, heads down, as sprays of water shot up from the river.

They were met behind a cover of buildings by the same Ranger that Lucy had first met upon finding the Rangers. "Faramir! The Eastern shore has been taken by the Orcs. Their numbers are too great; We will be overrun by nightfall."

"It's calling to him. His Eye is almost on me!" Frodo gasped to Lucy and Sam.

"Whose?"

"Sauron's," Sam whispered fearfully. In a lower tone, "Lucy- We need to get out of here. If the city is overrun by Orcs, they'll take the Ring and bring it to Sauron!" Lucy paled.

"Tell Faramir!"

"He already knows!"

"What? Then why hasn't he let us go?"

"Because he's of the same mind as his brother!" Sam snapped. "He thinks they can use the Ring to defend Gondor, when all it'll do is get us all killed!" Faramir turned to them, and Sam gave him a cold look.

"Take them to my father." Faramir said flatly. "Tell him that Faramir sends a mighty gift."

"WATCH OUT!"

A rock slammed into one of the towers that remained in tact, bringing it tumbling to the ground. While everyone else's eyes were on the tower, Sam's and Lucy's were on Frodo. Lucy was frightened- Frodo looked… Looked… _Demented_.

"F-Frodo?" She whispered, recoiling slightly towards the Ranger that was gripping her shoulders.

"_They're here…_" Frodo hissed in an odd, low, faraway voice. Faramir looked down at him. "_They've come…_"

_EEEEEEEEEEEYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!_

"**_NAZGUL!_**" Faramir roared. Lucy looked past the tower that had been hit; to her horror, she saw the twisted, strange dragon-like creature swoop overhead, the Nazgul gripping its reins. Its head turned this way and that, looking below.

They were looking for the Ring- They knew it was in the city!

Faramir seized Frodo and pulled him along, Sam and Lucy following quickly. Frodo seemed to be in a state of upright catatonia, his eyes half-lidded and unseeing. Was the Ring-wraith having some sort of effect on him? "Stay here, and stay out of sight!" Faramir ordered, pulling Frodo into a destroyed building.

"Frodo! Frodo, look at me!" Lucy cried, running forward and shaking Frodo's shoulders. But his eyes were rolled upwards towards the skies, towards the wraith as it made another swoop overhead. In a zombie-like motion, Frodo pulled away from Lucy and walked out of the hideout.

"What are you doing? Frodo?" Sam asked. Frodo ignored him and walked on. Expressionless, he walked between rushing soldiers that could easily have crushed him without realizing he was there. "Where are you going?"

"Frodo! Stop! You'll get hurt!" Lucy cried, running after him. "Frodo!" She followed him up a set of stone stairs. At the top, Frodo stopped, still in his sleeping-while-awake state. "Come down! We have to stay down like Faramir said, or the Nazgul will…" She stopped.

Too late.

Her heart went cold as, right in front of them, the Fellbeast rose into the air, placing the Nazgul level with Frodo and Lucy. It stared at them from under its hood, gaze piercing without eyes. Lucy held onto Frodo's arm, too stunned and frightened to move. The Nazgul did nothing.

Frodo held up the Ring.

"FRODO, NO!"

Before Lucy could fully realize what she was doing, she had pulled out her dagger and slashed it at the Fellbeast. Something hard plowed into her then, knocking both Lucy and Frodo over. Above them, the Fellbeast shrieked in pain and twisted away as Lucy, Frodo and whomever had tackled them went tumbling down and off another flight of stairs. Lucy rolled off the two and to the side, coming to a rest on the gritty rubble.

She heard Frodo let out a savage cry, heard the sound of Sting being pulled from its sheath. Rolling over, Lucy observed with horror that Frodo had Sam pinned to the ground, Sting at his neck! "Frodo, no!" She cried, lunging forward. "Stop! Stop! It's Sam!"

"It's me, Mr. Frodo… It's your Sam…" Sam whispered, staring pleadingly up at Frodo. "Don't you know your Sam?"

Recognition flashed in Frodo's eyes, and slowly, he pulled himself off. Horror at what he'd just nearly done was starting to set in on his face, and he slumped back against a crumbling pillar, Sting still clutched tightly in his hand. "Sam!" Lucy gasped, scrambling closer and helping him up. "Are you all right?"

"Fine, fine- He didn't hurt me. He would never." Sam whispered.

"I can't do this." They both looked up at Frodo. Sam shook his head, tears beginning in his eyes.

"I know, I know," He whispered, getting to his feet. "By rights, we shouldn't even be here!" He stared out at Osgiliath, at all the fighting and the fleeing Nazgul and Lucy remained on her knees in the dust and rocks. "But we are. We are."

"And we can't go back now," Lucy said.

"It's like in the great stories," Sam said to them. "The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were… And sometimes, you didn't want to know the end, because how could the ending be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was, after so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow."

Lucy sat, transfixed at Sam's speech.

"Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines, it will shine out the clearer! Those were the stories that stayed with you. The ones that really meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But now, I think I understand: Folk in those stories had lots of chances to turn back, only they didn't. They kept going… Because they were holding on to something."

"What are we holding on to, Sam?" Frodo whispered.

"Your home," Lucy said. "The Shire! Your family! The good parts of the world!" She and Sam pulled Frodo up. Sam nodded, tears shining in his eyes.

"There is good in the world, Frodo. And it's certainly worth fighting for!" Lucy bobbed her head wildly in agreement.

"A lot of bad things have happened," She said. "But they'll get better! Much better! When this is over, nearly everything will go back to normal!" Lucy frowned a little. "You have to believe that, Frodo. Or there's nothing." Frodo looked to her now, tears in his eyes as well.

"Of course."

"Frodo." They turned to see Faramir approaching. His expression was soft now, compassionate. He knelt down before Frodo, paused, and then said, "I think at last we understand one another."

"You know the laws of our country. The laws of your father!" The older Ranger warned from behind him. "If you let them go, your life will be forfeit." Lucy had to re-run that line over in her mind a few times before she realized that it was the adult way of saying that Faramir would die.

Faramir looked his fellow Ranger in the eyes for the longest moment. "Then it is forfeit. Release them."

* * *

Faramir led them through Osgiliath as quickly and safely as they could after Sméagol rejoined them. He stopped at a tunnel. "This is the old sewer," He explained. "Runs right under the river through the edge of the city. You'll find cover in the woods there." Sam looked at Faramir with new respect.

"Captain Faramir… You have truly shown your quality. The very highest, sir." Faramir smiled.

"The Shire must truly be a great realm, Master Gamgee, where gardeners are held in high honor." Sam blushed. "What road will you take once you reach the woods?"

"Gollum says there's a path near Minas Morgul that climbs up into the mountains." As he said this, Sméagol began to edge away from Faramir nervously. A grave look came to the young Ranger's face.

"Cirith Ungol?" He turned to Sméagol then, looking none too happy. Sharply, he reached down, grabbed Sméagol by the neck and slammed him against the wall of the sewer, causing Lucy to gasp. "Is that its name?" He asked dangerously.

"No! No," Sméagol's voice was one of anxious casualty, believing that his physical well-being depended on the answer. "… Yes…" Faramir whipped around to look at Frodo, Sam and Lucy.

"Frodo," He said urgently. "They say a dark terror dwells in the passes above Minas Morgul. You cannot go that way!"

"It is the only way!" Sméagol protested helplessly. "Master says we must go to Mordor, so we must try!" Faramir looked from him to Frodo, and the dark-haired Hobbit nodded.

"We must." Faramir threw Sméagol to the ground, glaring at him, but then turned back to the Hobbits and the girl.

"Go. And go with the goodwill of all Men." Frodo nodded.

"Thank you, Faramir." They turned and started down the passage, quickly disappearing around the corner.

"He's a good man, that Faramir. I misjudged him." Lucy nodded. She hesitated for a moment, but then asked,

"Boromir's good too, right? It was just the Ring that made him attack Frodo. Right?" She asked hopefully. Frodo stopped. He was still for a moment before turning around.

"He is, Lucy. He is. Remember all the good times we had with him." Lucy nodded again, and then stopped as Sméagol joined them from behind.

"I'll catch up with you." She said, turning back towards the opening.

"Where are you going?"

"No matter! I'll be back soon- Just keep going!" Lucy turned and ran back down the passage to the entrance. Faramir had not gone far, and she caught up with him quickly. "Faramir! Faramir!"

"Miss Pevensie? Is something wrong?" She had a feeling that if there had been something wrong, he would immediately believe that Sméagol was the source.

"C- Could you do me a favor? If it's not too much trouble?" Faramir nodded, brow furrowed. "Do you have any vials with you?" Faramir took a moment to search through a bag on his belt before coming up with a small, empty, glass vial. "Could I use it?" He handed it to her. Carefully, Lucy pulled out her cordial and filled the vial with some of its healing elixir. After capping it, she looked up at Faramir again.

"Will you be going to Gondor soon?"

"Yes." Lucy hesitated.

"I have two brothers and a sister: Peter, Susan and Edmund. Peter's tall and blonde, Susan's tall with long brown hair, and Edmund's short with dark hair. Edmund has freckles, and so does Susan- a little, anyway." She paused. "They might come to Gondor soon, especially if they're with Boromir. Could you give this to them if you see them?" She handed him the vial, and Faramir nodded slowly.

"Of course, Miss Pevensie. If I see them, I'll make sure to tell them that you're all right." Lucy sighed in relief.

"Thank you." To the Captain's surprise, she threw her arms around his waist in a hug before darting off after Sam, Frodo and Sméagol. Faramir examined the bottle momentarily before tucking it safely into his bag again. He then went off to fight, trying to banish his wonders as to why a little girl like Lucy would be on a life or death quest to Mordor.


	38. Saruman's Defeat

Morning had come, and the Uruk-Hai had all but won the fight. Everyone was holed up in the keep, and the Uruks weren't so frantic about breaking in any more. They were trying, all right, but now they knew that the people inside certainly wouldn't be going anywhere. Outside, they pulled down the Rohan flags and replaced them with Saruman's symbol: The White Hand.

"Ah!" Haldir winced as Susan removed his chest-plate.

"Sorry," She whispered, pulling up the side of his shirt to examine the wound. It was deep, but not bleeding too profusely. "You may need to walk me through this," Susan murmured. "The worst I've ever treated before are scraped knees." Haldir managed a small, pained smile.

"The benefit to younger siblings, yes?" Susan chuckled.

"Yes. They always came to me because Peter doesn't know bandages from tape." She carefully unrolled the bandages she'd acquired.

"Just bind the wound tightly. It's painful, but I can still fight." Susan cocked an eyebrow at him.

"And your arm?" She asked as she set about wrapping the wound. Haldir grimaced.

"I can work around it." He could tell that Susan disapproved of that idea, but she said nothing.

Nearby, the Uruks were ramming the doors to the keep with another battering ram. The men were doing all they could to hold it, but it wouldn't last much longer. King Théoden had given up. "The fortress is taken," He said, defeated. "It's over."

"And they wonder why the old alliances died." Haldir muttered bitterly.

"You said that this fortress would never fall while your men defended it!" Aragorn yelled as he, Peter and Legolas seized one of the benches nearby to block the door. Unlike the king, he had no intention in the slightest of giving up yet. "They still defend it! They have died defending it!" He saw that his words had no effect on Théoden, and he instead turned to Gamling. "Is there no other way for the women and children to get out of the caves?" Gamling, stunned at his king's resignation, did not answer, and Aragorn grabbed his arm. "Is there no other way?"

He snapped out of it. "There is one passage. It leads into the mountains. But they will not make it far, the Uruk-Hai are too many!" Aragorn gave him a hard look.

"Send word for the women and children to make for the mountain pass, and barricade the entrance!" He said, pushing Gamling towards the hall.

"So much death." They all turned to Théoden. "What can men do against such reckless hatred?"

"You can fight! Stand and fight!" Peter barked angrily storming up to him. "You're a king! You're _their_ king!" He gestured to the men blocking the doors. "Doesn't that mean something? Didn't you want them to make an end worthy of remembrance?"

"You are a child," Théoden said softly. "You know nothing of war and hatred."

"I know plenty, thank you very much!" Peter snapped. "Our country's at war too-" He gestured sharply to Susan and himself. "I haven't seen my father in nearly two years, and I may never see him again! Our home city's been bombed so many times, you couldn't tell it ever used to be a place people lived! You think I don't hate it? You think I don't know?"

"Peter…" Susan was stunned at Peter's outburst, as were many others in the room. Peter calmed down slightly after a moment.

"You are their _king. _They're looking to you for courage and guidance, so do your job!" But even this didn't seem to work. If Théoden had truly recovered, he would have snapped at Peter for scolding him like that.

"Ride out with me." Théoden and Peter turned to Aragorn, surprised. "Ride out and meet them." Something lit in Théoden's eyes.

"For death and glory." Aragorn stepped forward.

"For Rohan. And your people." Théoden seemed to understand this, and he was pensive for a moment.

"The sun is rising," Gimli muttered, nodding to the light streaming in through the windows. Peter turned to Susan as she helped Haldir replace his armor.

"How many days has it been since Gandalf left?" Susan thought. Then her eyes widened.

"Five."

_Look to my coming on first light of the fifth day. _

_At dawn… Look to the east. _

"If Mithrandir has planned something," Haldir whispered, carefully rising to his feet, "Then it shall come full circle. He works in mysterious ways."

"That's often what people in our… land say about God," Susan said distractedly. "He works in mysterious ways."

"Yes," Théoden said, the fire burning in his eyes again. "Yes! The Horn of Helm Hammerhand… Shall sound in the Deep!" He turned back to Aragorn. "One last time!"

"Yes!" Gimli agreed. He disappeared down a side hallway, and Théoden put a hand on Aragorn's shoulder.

"Let this be the hour when we draw swords together!" He said. "Horses! Horses!"

* * *

The riders in the hall brought up the horses from the stables and mounted them in the hall. Peter got on with Aragorn, and Susan with Haldir. "Fell deeds awake!" King Théoden, renewed, put on his helm. "Now for wrath! Now for ruin! And a red dawn!"

From above, a horn sounded in the deep, and they then understood where Gimli had run off to.

The Uruks broke through the gate with the battering ram and made to burst through the door. Théoden held his sword high.

"_Forth__ Eorlingas!_" He bellowed, cries going up at his call.

They charged from the room, slashing and stabbing at whatever Uruk-Hai came within arm's reach. The horn continued to blow loud and proud above them as they charged to the bridge. Riding down the ramp, they swept the Uruks off the bridge and down to their deaths until they reached the bottom. In the new light, they could see that the valley was filled to the brim with the Uruk-Hai army, their end now visible since many had intruded the walls of the fortress.

"Look!" Aragorn cried.

They looked up and to the east. On top of a steep incline to the left of the fortress, there stood a white rider and his steed: Gandalf. The morning light shined behind him, illuminating the Wizard with heavenly light. He stared down at his friends, and even the Uruk-Hai stopped and turned in spite of themselves to look up at the White Wizard.

Suddenly, someone joined Gandalf from behind. "Eomer!" Théoden gasped. Eomer raised his sword.

"_Rohirrim!_" He shouted. And then, many men on horseback came from behind, joining the Prince and the Wizard. All of Eomer's riders had retuned to fight for their king. "_To the king!_" Eomer cried. And with heart-felt, determined cries, the horsemen charged down the slope with their swords and axes held high and proud.

Panicked, the Uruk-Hai all turned and held up their pikes at the end of the slope to combat the new fighters. This, in turn, gave a perfect opportunity for Théoden and his men to make some headway. The light from the hill blinded the Uruks, and they pulled back in pain just as Gandalf and the Rohirrim crashed into them.

It wasn't long until the Uruks decided to retreat.

"Victory! Victory!" Théoden boomed. "We have victory!"

They drove the Uruks out of the ravine and into the forest beyond.

Wait. Forest?

"Was that there when we rode in?" Susan asked. Haldir shook his head.

"It certainly wasn't when we did."

"Stay out from the forest!" Eomer ran the length of the ravine on his horse, sword held aloft, stopping the Rohan soldiers from advancing. "Stay away from the trees!"

"What is that?" Peter asked Gandalf as the last of the Uruk-Hai disappeared into the shadows of the forest. Not a moment later, loud shrieks and screams were heard, along with much stomping and slapping. The trees were _moving_.

"That, Peter," Gandalf said with a smile. "Is Fangorn Forest. And at the moment, it has no desire to play host to anything even remotely resembling an Orc."

* * *

In Isengard, spirits were being raised as well.

For the Ents and the Fellowship, anyways. Boromir and Edmund were on the ground, fighting the Orcs and remaining few Uruk-Hai with their swords. Edmund's bad shoulder was screaming from over-use, but he ignored it and kept on. Merry and Pippin were perched on Treebeard's shoulders, slinging rocks at the Orcs and sending them crashing down into the many fiery pits that peppered Isengard.

The Ents hurled boulders and other debris at the Orcs, using what was left after smashing through the wall around Isengard. One Ent picked up a piece of wood and swung it around like a bat, knocking Orcs to and fro. A group of Orcs threw ropes around another Ent and pulled it down, hacking at it with axes. But it was rescued by Treebeard, who hauled up a gigantic, jagged black rock and tossed it at them, knocking them away like bowling pins.

The rage of the earth had been unleashed, and it was _ugly_.

"Therapeutic, isn't it Treebeard?" Boromir called cheerfully from the ground as his sword buried into one particularly ugly Orc's neck.

"Truly!" Treebeard puffed. "Years of… Repressed aggression… I'm finally working it out of… My system!"

"Boromir! Look!" Edmund pointed up to Orthanc. A man with long, white hair and a white beard was looking down upon the chaos in fury and horror. Edmund could think of only one name. "Is that Saruman?"

"Yes," Boromir growled. "Too good to come get his hands dirty!"

One poor Ent caught on fire after being struck by a flaming arrow, and it stumbled about wildly (Here was a fine example of a time when it was better to have skin covering your bones rather than wood), smashing into many Orcs and inadvertently killing them.

One of the Ents had reached the dam that Saruman had built to stop the river. "Timbertall… Bear the humans for… a moment!" Treebeard called to a nearby Ent. It obeyed the command and picked up Edmund and Boromir with its leafy 'hands'. "Break the... Dam! Release the river!" The Ent pulled down the wood, and the water began to spout through in long, hard bursts. In a moment, it had completely overwhelmed what remained of the dam and crushed through in a powerful wave.

"Hold on everyone!" Boromir shouted over the sound of the waves ripping through Isengard. The water was up to many of the Ents' necks, and if any of the Fellowship members had fallen, they would surely have been killed. The poor Ent who'd caught on fire took this opportunity to dunk his head into the rushing water and save himself.

The waves sent the fleeing Orcs tumbling into the abyss of the pits that Saruman himself had fashioned, falling to their deaths. The water left no part of Isengard untouched, washing away the filth that Saruman had created.


	39. Aftermath: Cleaning Up and Setting Out

The clean-up was ugly work.

Uruk-Hai bodies were piled together, and they would be burned later that evening. "After this day," Susan said, running a hand through her liberated hair, "I never want to hear the words 'Helm's Deep' ever again." Haldir chuckled. His arm had since been wrapped in a sling, and better bandaged. He wouldn't be shooting any arrows for a while, but he claimed that he could just as easily handle a sword.

"I do not think that you are the only one." He glanced around at the soldiers hauling the bodies back and forth, and his eyes landed on Gimli, whom was sitting on top of a large, dead Uruk and smoking his pipe leisurely. "I see you've recovered well from the fight, Master Dwarf." He said.

Gimli snorted. "I have seen bloodier battles, Elf." Susan cocked an eyebrow.

"When?"

"Never you mind, lass! Here comes the Prince, and I intend to compare scores." Legolas, looking as disheveled as Susan had ever seen him, came walking up to the three. He nodded to Haldir and Susan before turning to Gimli. Then, casually, he began to examine his bow.

"Final count," He drawled. "Forty-two."

"They counted their kills?" Susan nodded.

"You get used to it."

"Forty-two!" Gimli puffed, sounding impressed. "Why, that's not bad for a pointy-eared Elvish Princeling!" Legolas gave the dwarf a wary look, knowing full well that the only reason Gimli would compliment him was if he'd gotten a higher count. "I myself am sitting pretty on forty-_three_." Susan gave a small, tight smile.

"Tough luck, Lego-"

Without warning, Legolas whipped out an arrow and shot it at the Uruk that Gimli was sitting on, making him, Susan and Haldir jump. At first, Susan assumed that Legolas was merely a sore loser.

"Forty-three." Legolas smirked. Gimli glared at him.

"He was already dead." Legolas' eyes narrowed.

"He was twitching."

"He was _twitching_," Gimli said, "Because he's got my axe em-_bedded _in his _ner_v_ous system!_" He jerked his axe up and down, making the Uruk-Hai's legs and arms flail violently. Susan covered her mouth, smiling.

"That was more than I needed to see." Haldir nodded.

"Likewise, milady."

* * *

In Isengard, Merry, Pippin, Edmund and Boromir looked over the fruits of their labor. Isengard was a flooded, debris strewn mess. The water came up a little past Merry and Pippin's waists and Boromir and Edmunds' hips. Walking was difficult, and they often tried to find the shallowest places before trying to move. Orthanc was being heavily guarded by the Ents; to no one's surprise, Saruman was not willing to come out and treat with the trees whose forest he'd half-destroyed.

"He doesn't look too happy, does he?" Merry said mildly as they observed Saruman high on his tower.

"Not happy at all, Merry."

"Still, I suppose the view would be quite nice from up there."

"Oh, yes. It's a quality establishment." Pippin agreed. "I hear the staff is very good." Boromir and Edmund grinned madly at the Hobbits' commentary. Merry picked up his hand and drew a line through the air from the top of his head to Pippin's. Edmund understood what he was doing; Boromir had been left out on this joke. "What are you doing?" Pippin asked when he saw what his cousin was doing.

"Oh, nothing. The world's just back to normal, that's all." Pippin sighed.

"No it isn't. I'm starving."

"Like he said: The world is back to normal." Edmund quipped dryly.

"I doubt there's anything edible around here," Boromir muttered. "At least, nothing fit for anything but Orc and Uruk-Hai consumption. Come on, Edmund. I'd like to see what Treebeard plans on doing about Sa-" He stopped.

A pallid, dark-haired man had joined Saruman on the balcony. He looked like a highly unsavory character; sneaky and treacherous. Edmund was over a hundred yards away from him, and already he didn't like the man. Boromir must not have liked him either, because he said a few words that would have made Susan slap him.

"Hey, watch your mouth, big man! There are children here!" Pippin scolded Boromir. Edmund shot Pippin a withering look.

"Who is that guy?" Boromir's lip curled back angrily.

"I've only met him once. _Thankfully_. His name is Gríma- Dubbed "Wormtongue" by his fellow Rohirrans. He's indeed a nasty little worm, advisor to King Théoden."

"Probably an ex-advisor if he's here." Merry muttered. Boromir sighed, shaking his head.

"Yes, but that makes me wonder how much damage he's caused in Rohan before coming here." He sloshed forward through the water. "Let's see if we can find a way to flush Saruman out."

* * *

The forest outside of Osgiliath was dead and dying. No leaves were on the trees, and it seemed that there hadn't been in a while. This, at the very least, made it easier for them to navigate through. And it felt nice to be in some peace and quiet again, without the worry of being hit by a flying rock.

"I wonder if we'll ever be put into songs or tales," Sam mused out loud.

"What?" Frodo asked, the barest trace of a smile on his face.

"Like books and all that?"

"Well, yes- But the stories children are told as well. I wonder if they'll ever say, 'Let's hear about Frodo and the Ring.' And they'll say, 'Oh yes, that's one of my favorites!' 'Frodo was really courageous, wasn't he dad?' 'Yes m'boy, the most famousest of all Hobbits. And that's saying a lot'." Lucy giggled, and Frodo smiled for the first time in days.

"You've left out some of the chief characters: What about Samwise the Brave, and Lucy the Valiant? I want to hear about them." He stopped and turned around, gratefulness glittering in his eyes. "Frodo would not have gotten far without either of them."

"Valiant? Wherever did you get that?" Lucy laughed.

"Lucy, most children would run away screaming from the things you've seen. You've stood your ground as daringly as any adult could." Lucy ducked her head, averting her eyes.

"But I was scared the whole time." Sam shook his head.

"You stuck through it anyway. That's what makes bravery notable- You do something even though it scares you witless. No, Frodo's right," Sam agreed. "You're a noble girl, Lucy. And you put great value in your friends and your duties. A valiant girl." He blushed. "But I was serious, Mr. Frodo. No need to make fun of me." Frodo shook his head.

"I was serious too, Sam."

"You _are_ brave, Sam! Don't you remember running at that Cave Troll in Moria? And jumping into the river to follow Frodo even though you couldn't swim?"

"Well, I wouldn't attest that one to bravery," Sam muttered. "More like impulsive stupidity." He smiled, though. "Samwise the Brave," He said. "I think I like the sound of that."


	40. A Question of Valiance

_"I don't want you to go!"_

_Lucy pouted at her father from where she lay in bed. Logically, she knew that there was nothing she could do to stop him from leaving, but she felt she had to give it a try. Who knows? Maybe it would work. _

_Oh, their father looked so dashing in his uniform. He looked handsome in normal clothes as well- Peter and Edmund took after him just as Susan and Lucy got their beauty from their mother. He was only thirty-four; Lucy couldn't bear the thought of her handsome young father going off to war and maybe getting killed!_

_John Pevensie sighed and eyed his youngest child with sadness. Lucy clutched at her toy bunny and looked away. He didn't **want** to leave- She knew that, Susan knew that, the boys and mother knew that- so why did he have to? _

_She asked him this. "Lucy," He said, crouching down, "There are times in life when we do things we don't want to do. Scary things." _

_"Then why do them at all?" Lucy whispered, ever confused by the logic of adults. _

_"Because we're at war. I'm fighting to protect England and everything I love here- You, Peter, Edmund and Susan, your mum… I'm fighting to keep you all safe." Lucy could understand this well enough. _

_"But aren't you scared?" John gave a small smile. _

_"Of course I am." He straightened up, and then sat down next to her. "We all are. War is a frightening business, darling. But this is what bravery is: There would be no bravery if there wasn't something scary to overcome." He grinned at her. "And for my family, I can be brave about anything." He kissed her forehead. _

_Lucy was still disheartened. She pulled at a loose string on her nightgown. "I'm afraid you'll die. I don't want you to die…" Oh, this was never something a little child should have to worry about. But the times were troubled, and many children did have the worry that their parents would die. _

_"This is a time for you to be brave too, Lucy. You and mummy and your brothers and sister. Can you be brave for them, Lucy? For me?" Lucy looked down, tears brimming in her eyes. _

_"I don't know if I can." She said in the barest of whispers. John laced his fingers together, thinking. He was due to leave at noon the next day, and he knew he would regret leaving Lucy like this. _

_"Try this, dear," He said softly. "Whenever you get scared, or feel like crying, or feel like you need courage… Just take a deep, deep breath," He inhaled slowly as an example. "Close your eyes, and think of your happiest thoughts and memories." Lucy paused, but then took a deep breath and shut her eyes. _

_So many good times. Happy times. _

_Lucy opened her eyes. _

_"Feel better?" Lucy smiled and nodded. _

_"That's my girl." John kissed his forehead again. "Good night, Princess. I'll see you in the morning." _

_"Good night, daddy." _

_

* * *

_"Wake up! Wake up, sleepies! We must go, yes! We must go at once!"

Lucy opened her eyes at Sméagol's hoarse, hissing voice. Was it morning already? She rolled over and looked out over the dim landscape. She couldn't see the sun, nor feel its rays. Many of their recent days had been like this.

"Must be getting late," Sam muttered, standing up and staring out from under their shelter (Part of what seemed to be a ruined statue).

"No…" Frodo whispered softly. His somewhat happy demeanor from the other day was gone. He looked jumpy and wary and just… _Cold_. Dazed and weary, in a way. "It isn't even midday yet. The days are growing darker." Lucy's brow furrowed.

"That's not right- Aren't the days supposed to be getting lighter by now?" She asked. It was spring now, after all.

Without warning, a great rumbling rolled through the woods, and the ground began to shake. Panicked, the travelers looked around wildly for the source, wondering if maybe there were Orcs or trolls about. They were all relieved when it stopped a few seconds later. "Don't think the seasons are responsible for this darkness, Lucy." Sam whispered, casting a dreadful look on Mordor, which was frighteningly close now.

"Come on!" Sméagol looked terrified. "Must go! No time!"

"We're not going anywhere until Frodo and Lucy have eaten!"

"I'm fine, Sam," Lucy whispered. What she was worried about was Frodo; apart from his personality, his physical state had declined alarmingly since leaving Osgiliath (Not that it had been so well in the first place). He moved reasonably well, though Lucy suspected that it was a front and that he moved much worse when she and Sam weren't looking. He was pale and wan, and a part of her was worried that she would turn around to find him collapsed soon.

They had enough food, but he didn't eat. They had time to sleep, but he didn't. It was gradually becoming worse the closer they grew to Mordor. It was the Ring; Lucy knew that for certain as well as Frodo and Sam. It was Frodo's sacred, entrusted task, but sometimes in his weaker moments Lucy wanted to scream at him to give the Ring to her- To give him a break from it. She couldn't feel its pull, and it would never be able to corrupt her as it did Boromir, but Lucy knew he would refuse all the same.

It was his task.

His own.

"No time to lose, silly!" Sméagol protested impatiently. Regardless, Sam moved over to their packs and pulled out some lembas bread wrapped in those large, lovely leaves (That were, oddly enough, still alive after all this time). He held out a piece for both Frodo and Lucy.

"Go on." He said.

"What about you?" Lucy asked. Sam chuckled.

"Not hungry." His expression became wry. "At least, not for lembas bread." Lucy giggled, breaking off a small piece of the bread and eating it. Thank the Gods for the magic of the Elves, for it filled her up quickly and Lucy handed the rest of the piece back to Sam.

"When we're done with the quest," She declared. "You two and the rest of the Fellowship are coming to visit Professor Kirke and Mrs. Macready with us. We'll need you all to vouch for where we've been, and you can have dinner with us!" The little red-head grinned. "Mrs. Macready's a loon, but she's a great cook. Better than Susan." She made a face. "But then, Sméagol's a better cook than Susan."

Sam laughed, and Frodo cracked the barest of grins. Sam replaced the rest of the bread piece in the bag. "We have to be careful. Not much left now. I've rationed it, and we should have enough for the journey home."

Frodo gave Sam a strange look then, but kept silent.

"Well, are you planning on going straight back to the Shire? Because if we go back to Osgiliath and find Faramir, maybe he can help us find the others. Gosh; They'll be a sight to see, won't they?" Lucy whispered. She couldn't imagine Peter, Susan or Edmund changing much over the months, physically or mentally.

After all, what could have happened in that time?

* * *

A three-chapter update? What's wrong with me?

This chapter marks the official beginning to the Return of the King, folks! We're in the home stretch!

Geez...

I know I've said this before, but I just can't believe that three years ago, this was just a vague little idea that I thought I'd never finish. I NEVER dreamed I'd get this far, and now look! This is my most popular story! Over 400 reviews, and the hit counter is up in the hundred-thousands!

To all reviewers who love this story, thank you!


	41. Saruman Confronted

This one turned out longer than I had intended… Ah, well, I don't think I'll get any complaints for that. A little surprise in this chapter: If you've seen the movies, or rather the extended edition of ROTK, you know what happens there, but something in this chapter was almost completely from the book.

* * *

Fangorn was as dank, dark and misty as ever as the party rode through on their horses. It was slow-going: There was no straight, clear path, and if they tried to canter they would probably end up charging into a tree- And obviously, one did not want to get too close to the trees in this particular forest. On another hand, Fangorn seemed… _Calm_ now. Sated. Safer.

"Long have I heard the tales of Fangorn," Haldir murmured from his horse. "Though none of my companions nor myself have ever dreamed of setting foot in this… _Strange_ place." A soft groan echoed throughout the woods.

"Choose your words carefully," Peter advised nervously, eyeing the trees. "They're easily offended."

"You speak as though they can talk," Eomer said curiously.

"Well, they certainly managed a move all the way to the entrance of Helm's Deep from where they were before, so it wouldn't really surprise me if they could- _Is_ _that_ _Isengard_?" Peter hissed suddenly. Susan leaned over to see around his shoulder.

Isengard was a _wreck_.

It looked eerily similar to London as they'd left it, after a couple dozen air raids. And it was completely water-logged. In the center of the wreckage stood a tall, massive black tower. Undoubtedly, this was where Saruman had holed himself up before the destruction started.

"What happened here?" Gamling asked, shocked, as they came upon a gaping hole in the stone wall surrounding the land. Gandalf looked surprised, but less so than his companions.

"I suspect we shall find out soon enough. I believe I see someone up ahead." Just then, a wonderfully familiar voice called out,

"Welcome, my Lords, to Isengard!"

"Merry! Pippin!" Susan cried happily. Merry and Pippin were perched on the remains of the stone wall, mugs in their hands and pipes between their teeth.

"You young rascals!" Gimli barked angrily. Pippin merely grinned and waved his pipe. Aragorn grinned. "A merry hunt you've led us on, and now we find you feasting and… And smoking!" Merry and Pippin gave their Dwarf friend one of their infuriatingly calm and cool looks.

"We are sitting on a field of victory, enjoying a few well-earned comforts." Pippin clarified. "The salted pork is particularly good." Gandalf shook his head, rolling his eyes heavenward.

"Hobbits," He whispered. "Heaven save us from the Brandybucks and Tooks!"

"We're under orders from Treebeard, who's taken over management of Isengard." Merry explained.

"Where are Edmund and Boromir? They are here as well, aren't they?" Legolas asked. Merry turned and nodded towards the tower.

"They've gone too see if they could help Treebeard… Ah, _negotiate_ Saruman down from Orthanc. But he's none too pleased with the renovations the Ents have done on Isengard, and he's not the sort to talk with someone who's just beaten the tar out of him and his forces."

"Then he'll be none too pleased to see us…" Aragorn murmured. "Hop on, you two." Merry climbed on with Eomer, and Pippin clambered onto the back of Brego with Aragorn. Together, they all sloshed through the flooded Isengard until-

"EDMUND!"

Boromir and Edmund (Both of whom were thoroughly soaked) clambered over a pile of stinking wreckage and smoldering wood. Susan leapt off the back of her and Peter's horse and stumbled through the water to the pile, throwing her arms around Edmund's neck.

Where Edmund would once have thrown his older sister off in disgust, he now tolerated her hug, and even managed to reciprocate it for a moment. "Oh _God,_ if you _ever_ scare me like that again, Edmund, I'll… I'll…" Susan hugged him tighter. Peter had dismounted by this time as well, though he hung back, taking note of Susan's inability to threaten her brothers when they'd just narrowly escaped death and mutilation.

"Are you all right?" He asked as Susan released Edmund (He was starting to turn blue). Edmund, catching sight of his brother, puffed up a little, nodding.

"Yeah," He said lightly. "I'm fine. I'm all right." Peter looked his brother up and down.

"You're soaking wet." Edmund cocked an eyebrow at this, looking around at the water surrounding them.

"Gee, I wonder why." Susan took a deep breath- _Here we go, all over again- _But then Edmund grinned, and Peter smirked back.

During the reunion, Boromir had folded his arms behind his back and sighed softly, making a point not to look any of his friends in the eyes. Aragorn, however, pulled Brego up to him, closely followed by Legolas and Gimli. "Are you all right, Boromir?" He asked quietly. Without looking up, Boromir nodded. For a moment, there was an uneasy silence.

"I daresay, Boromir- Have you and Edmund switched heads?" Gimli grunted, jerking his head towards Edmund. "I thought he was supposed to be the ornery one!"

"Hey! I heard that!" Edmund snapped, climbing on behind Gandalf. Boromir finally managed to look up.

"I… I have much to answer for." He said awkwardly, studying a tear in his glove with the uttermost interest.

"Frodo, Sam and Lucy escaped unscathed. You saved Merry, Pippin and Edmund. Whatever deeds you've done… I think you've redeemed yourself." Boromir continued to avoid Aragorn's gaze miserably.

"Please," He whispered. "_They_ saved _me_. If Edmund hadn't refused to move when the Uruk tried to kill me, I'd be dead. If Merry and Pippin hadn't found a way to free our bonds, we'd be dead. These three kept me alive."

"Give yourself some credit!" Pippin said, astonished. "We wouldn't have convinced Treebeard to help without you!"

"What are you talking about? It was your plan that made him see!"

"Gentlemen, we-" Gandalf stopped, brow furrowing sharply. "Boromir, did I hear you correctly?" He nodded to Pippin. "'Twas this fool who convinced Treebeard to attack Isengard?" Boromir nodded.

"Really?" Peter asked, giving Pippin an odd look.

"Really!" Pippin huffed. "Is it that hard to believe that I came up with a good idea?" Each member of the Fellowship looked to one another.

"Yes!" They all chorused. Pippin sulked.

"Oh, the hell with you lot." Gandalf gave Aragorn a meaningful look, and the Ranger turned back to Boromir.

"Boromir, we bear no grudge against you. Please- Do not hold your head down on our accounts."

"Ah, Young Master… _hmmmhmmm…_ Gandalf. I'm… _hmmmhmmm…_ Glad you've… Come." Boromir was saved by Treebeard's arrival. Edmund saw the looks that his siblings gave Treebeard.

"You'll get used to that really quick. His motto is 'Don't be hasty'."

"And whatever you do, nobody ask him any questions that require in-depth answers. We'll be here until next winter." Merry grumbled. As they spoke, Haldir beckoned Boromir to his horse and let him on. The group followed Treebeard to the base of Isengard as he spoke.

"Wood and water, stock and… _hmmmhmmm… _Stone I can master… But there is a wizard to manage here… _hmmmhmmm_… Locked away in his tower."

"Let's burn it- It'll be no less than he deserves, what with all the trouble he's caused." Peter growled.

"Alas, his tower is made of metal," Boromir said. "Believe me, Peter, we would have done that a long time ago if we could."

"No problem," Peter pressed stiffly. "What say we fashion a bomb like the one his Uruks used and blow the tower sky-high that way?"

"With every moment that passes, I find myself more compatible with you, Peter," Eomer muttered bitterly. "We'll take that into consideration."

"We certainly will." Théoden whispered.

"Be careful," Gandalf said to them. "Even in defeat, Saruman is dangerous. His defeat will have left him bitter and embarrassed, and he shall be on edge. Say nothing that will provoke him too far."

"Why not just lop off his head and be done with it, then?" Gimli snapped.

"No!" Gandalf said, shaking his head. "We need him alive. We need him to _talk_."

"I say, isn't that what he always uses to start trouble? His voice?" Susan said.

"Indeed, Gandalf," Théoden said. "You are wise, but I hesitate to let him speak to us. His words are poison straight from the viper's fang, as I know too well!"

Just then, a voice said from overhead:

"You have fought many wars and slain many men, Théoden King, and made peace afterwards."

"Look up!" Peter hissed. They did, and who stood atop the tower of Orthanc but Saruman the White, his black staff with its white crystal clutched in his hand. He was quite tall, and he did indeed have a great resemblance to Gandalf. But even this far away, Peter, Susan and Edmund could tell that he had none of Gandalf's warmth or that deep, inner light that had banished Saruman from Théoden's body.

But Peter felt sick. That voice… That face…

Why did this man seem so familiar?

"Can we not take council together as we once did, my old friend? Can we not have peace, you and I?" Saruman's voice was benevolent, but after all that had happened, an idiot could figure out his true intentions: He'd been blown away by his enemy, and was now begging for peace in one last-ditch attempt at deception.

"The nerve!" Susan hissed. "After all he's done?"

"The tongue of a snake is not easily stilled, milady," Eomer growled. But Théoden's next words surprised them all.

"We shall have peace." He received some stricken looks from his companions. But the glare he sent to Saruman then let them know that he would certainly not be tricked a second time. "We shall have peace when you answer for the burning of the Westfold, and the children that lie dead there!" He was yelling now, and his voice shook with barely contained rage.

Saruman looked shocked; clearly, he hadn't expected Théoden to have hardened since their last encounter.

"We shall have peace when the lives of the soldiers, whose bodies were hewn even as they lay dead against the gates of the Hornburg, are avenged!" The king could not have put more venom in his gaze if he tried. "When you hang from a gibbet… For the sport of your own crows… We shall have _peace_." Théoden finished his tirade, breathing hard. All looked to Saruman for his rebuttal.

"Gibbets and crows?" Saruman was angry now, his previously calm and kind expression melting away. "Dotard!" His voice had lost all its charm as he turned to look at Gandalf. "And what do you want, Gandalf Greyhame? No, let me guess- The Key to Orthanc. Or perhaps the Keys of Barad-Dur itself, along with the rods of the Five Wizards and the crowns of the seven kings!"

Gandalf's eyes were steel. "Your treachery has already cost many lives, Saruman. Many more are now at risk. But you could save them, Saruman! You were deep in the enemy's counsel." Saruman let out a raw laugh.

"So you have come for information, then?" He whispered.

"This was a waste. He will tell us nothing." Boromir said, shaking his head. Saruman laughed.

"Wrong, son of Gondor! I have some for you." He glared at Gandalf hatefully. "Something festers in the heart of Middle Earth. Something that _you_ have failed to see. But the Great Eye has seen it! Even now he presses his advantage! His attack will come soon." A horrible smile crossed his face. "You're all going to _die…_"

Gandalf, never taking his eyes from Saruman, urged Shadowfax forward a few steps. Edmund, behind Gandalf, tensed. "He will bring no harm to you, Edmund. You are safe at my side." Gandalf whispered softly.

"But you know this, don't you, Gandalf? You cannot think that this Ranger will ever sit upon the throne of Gondor! This exile, crept from the shadows, shall never be king!" He gestured sharply to Aragorn, whose expression remained one of total neutrality. "Or maybe," Saruman continued. "You believe that the _children _will be your saviors_._" Here, his gaze flipped between Peter, Susan and Edmund, all of whom were suddenly very confused.

"Yes, Gandalf, I know of them! Does the magician know of their presence here?" He snorted. "It would not surprise me. You are both cut of the same cloth, willing to send your friends to places they are not meant to be!"

"IF YOU'VE GOT SOMETHING TO SAY ABOUT US, THEN SAY IT PLAINLY!" Peter roared.

"Peter!" Gandalf hissed. "Be silent!"

"No! If he knows something that we should, then I damn well want to hear it!" Peter snapped, glaring up at the wizard. Saruman stared down at him, his eyes slits.

"Look me in the eye, boy," Saruman said. Peter did so, defiant fire in his eyes.

"Peter!" Susan gasped. "Don't!" But Peter didn't look away.

"Your cheek will get you killed, _boy_." Saruman snarled. "Tell me, has Gandalf- Or anyone else in your forsaken Fellowship- Informed you or these two-" It was assumed he meant Susan and Edmund. "Precisely what the outcome of the quest has been foretold to be, in regards to your youngest sibling? _Lucy_?"

All of the color drained from Peter's face. "What?"

Saruman sneered at him. "You seem to have lost your pluck, boy. I suppose you think yourself a warrior, don't you? You, your brother, your sisters- You're a bunch of ill-kempt brats that stumbled into a world beyond your comprehension!"

Susan gave him an ugly look as he turned to her. "You glare, girl, but you know my words are the truth! Go on and pretend you have a purpose here, because you do not! What use could a woman be in battle?" Now he looked to Edmund. "Useless and pathetic though the four of you are, _you_ certainly take the prize. The youngest among you was more valuable! You are only a hindrance- no help to anyone!" Edmund breathed deeply, trying to contain himself.

"You three disregard that," Aragorn said in a low, steady voice. "He's trying to get your goat. You are great assets to our Fellowship."

But Saruman had much more to say.

"And as for your sister- Gandalf does not hesitate to sacrifice those closest to him, even when they are not his to sacrifice! Even those he professes to love." He turned back to Gandalf, mocking. "Tell me, Gandalf, what words of comfort did you give to the Halflings and the girl when you sent them off to their dooms? The path you've sent them on can only lead to death!"

"I'VE HEARD ENOUGH!" Gimli bellowed. "Legolas, put an arrow through his gob!" Legolas, looking none too pleased himself, reached for an arrow, his eyes never leaving Saruman.

"No!" Gandalf snapped to the Elf. His eyes bore into Saruman once more. "Come down, Saruman, and your life will be spared!"

"Save your pity and your mercy! I have no use for it!" Susan cried out as Saruman raised his staff and jabbed it towards Gandalf and Edmund, sending a stream of fire shooting down at them. Edmund yelped and held tightly onto Gandalf, squeezing his eyes shut. The fireball struck them, horse and all, and engulfed them. The heat was so intense that the others in the party had to draw back in horror.

But the fire cleared away, and wizard, horse and boy were unscathed. Gandalf's expression was that of a school teacher about to discipline a student.

"Saruman!" He thundered. "Your staff is broken!" As the words left his mouth, Saruman's staff began to shake wildly in his hands, and it shattered into smoke and bits of white crystal a moment later.

Saruman stared at Gandalf, horrified and enraged, as a pallid man with dark hair came up behind him. Gríma Wormtongue. He stared at Théoden helplessly, eyes darting occasionally to Saruman. Théoden, seeing the consternation in the man's eyes, pressed his chance. "Gríma… You need not follow him! You were not always as you are now. You were once a man of Rohan!" Gríma seemed to give this thought, and he looked away momentarily.

But Saruman had recovered. "Rohan! What is the house of Rohan but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek while their children roll on the floor with the dogs?" He snarled. Eomer, Gamling and Théoden were all visibly infuriated by the comment, but the king managed to restrain himself from any unwise comments. "The victory at Helm's Deep does not belong to you, Théoden Horse-Master. You are a lesser son of greater sires."

Gríma looked torn between Saruman and Théoden. Théoden, though infuriated, turned back to his former counselor. "Gríma… Come down," He said softly. His face contorted with anger more so directed at Saruman. "Be free of him!"

"Free? He will never be free!" Saruman snapped. He whirled on Gríma, who'd spoken something inaudible. "Get down, cur!" He smacked the dark-haired man to the floor of the roof. He must have crawled away a moment later, because they did not see him rise again. "Come treat with me when you have clearly not ingested too much ale, Gandalf the Fool!" He turned to walk away, but Gandalf would not have it.

"Come back, Saruman!"

To the surprise of all, Saruman returned to the edge of the roof, seemingly dragged by an invisible hand. "I did not give you leave to go!" Gandalf said in a righteously imperious voice. "You were deep in the enemy's counsel, Saruman! Tell us what you know!" Saruman's eyes were wild with hate.

"I will tell you NOTHING!" He roared. For the longest moment, their eyes were locked in a battle of wills. Blue on black, clear on dark. It was barely a contest at all- Gandalf had risen to grace and Saruman had fallen from it. The latter stumbled back after a moment, and then turned and disappeared back into Orthanc. Gandalf made no attempt to stop him, sighing.

"He will not tell. I had hoped-"

Without warning, something came flying from the window of one of the balconies above. It shot down barely a few feet from Gandalf, crashing into the water and sending the murky substance all over Shadowfax. "What in the world was that?" Eomer snapped.

"Saruman _is _a sore loser!" Pippin said.

"That was not cast by Saruman, no," Gandalf corrected. "More likely Wormtongue. Thank goodness for his terrible aim." Pippin, his eyes still on the object in the water, clambered off of the horse.

"Pippin!" Aragorn called. The Hobbit shuffled awkwardly over to the shadowy object in the water and lifted it out, grunting at its weight. It was a small, black ball- larger than a cricket ball, but smaller than a football. He examined it with curious eyes as Gandalf marched up behind him.

"Peregrin Took!" Pippin jumped and looked up. "I'll take that, my lad. Quickly, now!" With one parting glance, Pippin handed the ball up to Gandalf, who swiftly tucked it into his robes, hiding it from view.

"What is it?" Peter asked.

"Something that Wormtongue should not have cast away. Undoubtedly, there are few treasures in Orthanc more valuable than this."

Suddenly, a shrill shriek was emitted from the balcony above.

"Saruman must think so as well. We had best go!"


	42. Celebration at Edoras

In response to the reviews I got: First of all, thank you!

Second of all: There's a reason I went with the book. NOTE THAT I WENT WITH THE BOOK, AND REMEMBER IT. 'Twill behoove you later.

Third: Someone said (Can't off the top of my head remember who) That their only criticism on this story was that the wardrobe was made of apple wood. Did I ever say it wasn't? (I'm not being sarcastic or snippy, I'm asking honestly, because if I DID say that it was made of something else, I need to go fix it: It was apple wood with Narnia, and I intended it to be so here).

* * *

The survivors of the battle all regrouped at Edoras for a celebration.

In the Golden Hall, Théoden raised his goblet, presented by Eowyn, to the men, women and children before him, and everyone stood for a toast. "Tonight," He rumbled, "We remember those who gave their blood to defend this country." He held the goblet higher. "Hail the victorious dead!"

"Hail!" Everyone called, drinking from their own mugs (To Edmund's disappointment, his was filled with cider).

With the toast out of the way, the real festivities began.

"This is one of the best parties I've ever been to!" Edmund cheered. Susan smiled; It was fun, yes, but it would have been even more fun if she didn't have to keep an eye on Edmund, who seemed obsessed with trying ale. She'd already threatened Merry, Pippin, Boromir and Gimli with a set of slow, painful demises if they buckled to Edmund's prodding.

Still, the celebration was fun even without the influence of alcohol. Merry and Pippin were fools as it was, and they delighted in dancing on the tables and singing drinking songs from the Shire. Many of the Rohirrans had never even heard of Hobbits before, never mind seen them, so they were pleased with the opportunity.

"_Oh, you can search far and wide,_

_You can drink the whole town dry, _

_But you'll never find a beer so brown_

_(But you'll never find a beer so brown)_

_As the one we drink in our hometown_

_(As the one we drink in our hometown)_

_You can drink your fancy ales,_

_You can drink them by the flagon,_

_But the only brew for the brave and true…_

_Comes from the Green Dragon!_"

They knocked their mugs together and drank as their audience clapped and cheered wildly. Susan, Peter and Edmund were all in hysterics- Merry and Pippin often had that effect on people. "Mad, they are!" Edmund was almost sobbing with laughter. "Crazy! I'd never be able to do that!"

"Is that man okay?" Susan was concerned, even through her tearful laughter, about the poor sap that had been hit in a face by a mug accidentally kicked by one of the Hobbits. He was back up and cackling drunkenly a moment later, though.

"Aye, Peter! Peter!" Peter, still chuckling, turned back and walked over to Boromir. He was seated next to Gimli at a table, Legolas behind them and Eomer before them. A few other men were around, laughing and holding mugs. "Peter," The Gondorian said, sounding as though he'd already tipped back a few ales. "How old are you? Sixteen, right?"

"Fifteen." Eomer shrugged.

"Close enough. Are you in for the game?" A drinking game, it seemed. Peter hesitated.

"Well…" He grinned. "I guess as long as Susan doesn't find out. OW!" He yelped suddenly as someone yanked down sharply on his ear.

"As long as Susan doesn't find out _what?_" His sister's voice growled.

"Girl has the ears of an elf!" Eomer whispered. Legolas nodded.

"I can vouch for that." (1)

"N-Nothing, Su…" He yelped sharply as Susan tugged harder.

"Peter," She snarled. "You are _too young _to drink, and if I see you so much as _touch_ a mug of ale, I swear…" She gave one last tug before letting go and returning to Edmund.

"Smart," Peter moaned. "She knows that if she never finishes the sentence, my imagination will run wild and I'll imagine the worst possible thing she can do!" Eomer shook his head.

"No wonder she's gets on so well with my sister. Éowyn's generally a sweet woman, but she can just as easily be a dragon." He said. Peter nodded miserably, rubbing his abused ear.

"I can sympathize, obviously. I guess I'm out for this one." He sat down next to Boromir, and Eomer continued to hand out mugs.

"No pauses," He said. "No spills."

"And no regurgitation!" Gimli cackled, the men behind him laughing. Peter grimaced.

"Thank you, Gimli. I needed that image."

"As did I…" Boromir murmured, setting his mug down for a moment and shutting his eyes.

"So… It's a drinking game?" Legolas asked.

"Last one standing wins!" Gimli confirmed.

"Don't they have drinking games where you come from, Legolas?" Boromir asked. Legolas shook his head.

"We don't normally ingest ale or much alcohol in Greenwood. We usually just drink water. But what little alcohol drinking we do, it is wine." He paused. "And if the point of the game is to be the last person sober-"

"Standing, actually." Eomer corrected.

"… Then the games would take quite a while."

"Think Susan would kill me if I drank wine, then?" Peter chuckled. Boromir gave the young man a wry look.

"I wouldn't press my luck."

* * *

"How many have you had, Merry?" Edmund crowed, staring in shock at the Hobbit.

"Oh, abou' twenty or thirty… ish… I think…" Merry slurred. "We Hobbits have a high talcohol olerance. I mean, tackle all followers. I mean… Ah, forget it…"

"And now you see what happens every Saturday night in the Shire: These two drunken fools are unleashed upon the poor inhabitants of Hobbiton and Bywater." Gandalf said dryly.

"You've borne witness to such episodes, Gandalf?" Aragorn, amused, had appeared behind the wizard and the children. The wizard's expression was dark and stormy, the memories running unbidden through his mind.

"Oh, yes. Many a time I have witnessed these two performing their drunken shenanigans. Once, I believe, Peregrin over there-" He nodded to Pippin, whose shirt was inside-out and had half an apple core on his head, "- Went up to a number of young Hobbit-lasses and asked them to the May-Day celebration." He stopped to take a drink from his mug, and Edmund shrugged.

"So? What's so bad about that?" Gandalf snorted.

"Well, he may have had a fighting chance at securing a companion if he hadn't approached them all with the phrase, 'Good evening, you raving pumpernickel pansies,'" Susan and Edmund shrieked with laughter, but Merry and Pippin seemed delightfully out of sync with the conversation. "Granted, I believe he meant "ravishing" rather than "raving", but still…"

"Oh, I'm going to tear him to shreds with that when he's sober!" Edmund howled.

Back at the drinking game, things were just as hilarious. Boromir had dropped out earlier with a slightly slurred "I fold." Legolas was still going strong, showing no signs whatsoever of inebriation despite downing over fifteen mugs. Gimli, however… Not so well.

"'S the dwarves who go swimmin' with little hairy women!" He giggled. Peter covered his mouth and slammed his face against the table, attempting to muffle his insane snickering.

"That they do, Gimli, that they do," Boromir agreed, eyes spinning. Suddenly, Legolas' eyes widened, and he raised his right hand to his eyes in examination.

"I feel something," He whispered in astonishment. Eomer and Peter cocked eyebrows at one another before returning their attention to the elf. "A slight tingling in my fingers. I think it's affecting me!" He sounded worried, but Gimli slammed down his current mug and laughed drunkenly.

"What'd I tell ye? He can't hold his liquor…" It was then that, without further ado, Gimli's eyes crossed, rolled back into his head, and he tipped clean off the back of his seat, feet flying up into the air. Peter cracked up laughing, while Legolas settled with a victorious yet humble smile.

"Game over." Eomer turned to Peter.

"You see, Peter? This is the advantage to being sober: You'll remember all this in the morning, whereas Gimli will have a splitting headache." Peter nodded, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes and standing up.

"Right. I'm going to go find Su and Ed." He weaved his way through the crowds of Rohirrans, scanning for the only boy in the room over seven that didn't have long hair. "Excuse me. Excuse- Thank you. Excuse me- Oh, no, I'm sorry!" He hissed as he tripped and hit a man in the back. "Sorry, sorry, I- Oh… Whoops… S-Sorry, your majesty…" Peter had crashed right into King Théoden.

The king, it seemed, had managed to remain sober thus far, for his eyes were clear when they landed on the blonde teenager. "Ah, Peter- Quite all right, quite all right, it's been happening all night. Are you enjoying the festivities?" Peter nodded.

"Yes, sir. If only you'd seen the drinking game in the corner…" Théoden laughed.

"Well, it's to be expected." He fell silent for a moment, and just as Peter was about to excuse himself to find his brother and sister, "Peter, come aside for a moment. I wish to discuss something with you."

Oh… boy.

As a teenager/child, one never wanted to hear the word "discuss" come from an adult's mouth. Never. It meant trouble. The last time Peter had "discussed" something with an adult, it was his father a few years prior, and it involved the incident where a few spiders had _accidentally_ found their way into Susan's jacket… That hadn't ended well.

Breaking out in a cold sweat, Peter followed the king to a side of the room less occupied by revelers. Merry and Pippin had struck up a new song and were stomping on the table nearby, creating an effective background noise for Peter to focus on in his attempt to remain calm.

"I must say, Peter," Théoden said. "I was impressed by your fortitude in Helm's Deep. Yours and Susan's. And from what Gandalf has told me… And what Saruman was kind enough to share… Your younger brother and sister have not been without their own struggles as well." Peter nodded, swallowing thickly.

"Yes, sir." Théoden nodded, briefly sipping from his goblet.

"And I've seen few full grown men, let alone adolescent boys, with enough pluck to yell at a king the way you did in the keep." Peter went crimson at this, and Théoden laughed. "I am not berating you, Peter. You have never shown disrespect to me before, and I believe you were only doing what had to be done."

"Thank you, sir."

"How old are you and your siblings?"

"Ah… I'm fifteen, Susan's fourteen, Edmund's ten and Lucy's eight." Théoden nodded again, a bit more gravely this time.

"I will say this: Not many children would be able to stand and face the dangers that you four have faced. Particularly those who've never fought a battle. I repeat, Gandalf has told snippets of your Fellowship's tale, and he speaks highly of the four of you." Peter heaved a deep, inner sigh of relief, finally convinced that he was not going to be scolded in any way. "When all is said and done in this war… I would like to honor you four."

Peter's eyes widened. "… Seriously?"

"Yes." The corners of Théoden's lips twitched. "Seriously. Meaning that each of you will have your own title; something to be recognized by." He clapped Peter's shoulder with his free hand. "I commend you, Peter. And I thank you for all your aid."

* * *

(1): Revisit the chapter with Balin's Tomb, at the moment where Gimli is grieving and Lucy and Susan are with him.


	43. Gollum vs Sam

"_No! No! Massster!_"

Frodo and Lucy were shocked awake by Sméagol's shrieking. They had been sleeping in a swampy area, one with many twisted trees and rocks, all covered in copious amounts of moss. Right nearby was a small stream and pool of water which reflected the full, white moon on its surface.

Lucy jumped up, ripping out her dagger and looking around, panicked. Sam was crouched over Sméagol, clutching his neck and trying to strangle him! "Stop! Stop it, Sam!" Lucy screamed, dropping the dagger to the dirt and running over. She gripped Sam's shoulders and tried to pry him off, but Sam had an iron grip on the spindly little creature's neck. "Sam! No! Why are you-?"

"I HEARD IT FROM HIS OWN MOUTH!" Sam roared, whirling on Lucy and Frodo as the latter stumbled over the rocks towards them. "HE MEANS TO MURDER US!"

"Shush! Shush!" Lucy gasped, looking around warily. "Do you want to Nazgul to hear you?"

"Didn't you hear me?" Sam snapped as Sméagol made wild, frantic pleas for help and belief. "He means to kill us! I heard him mumbling to himself while you two were asleep(1). He means to kill us and take the Ring!"

"Horrid, fat Hobbit!" Lucy cried out and drew back at the frightening look on Sméagol's face as he drew towards Sam. "He hates Sméagol! He makes up horrid, fat-Hobbit, nasty lies!"

"You miserable little maggot! I'll stove your head in!"

Here was the predicament in a nutshell: Both Sam and Sméagol were credible.

Sam was credible because- well, one, he was _Sam_. Along with this, however, was the fact that it would not have been the first time that Sméagol would have tried to kill them in order to obtain the Ring. At the end of the day, the Ring still had Sméagol in its clutches, and he was just obsessed enough to do anything to get it back- even string them along under the pretense of helping them for over a month.

However, Sméagol had credibility too: Sam had been known to be unnecessarily cruel to Sméagol in the past, and it was well known by all that, especially after Faramir's warning, that he didn't want Sméagol traveling with them anymore.

So who were Frodo and Lucy to believe? And did it matter, anyway? They still needed Sméagol to lead them to the pass of Cirith Ungol and get them into Mordor, and both Frodo and Lucy would sooner kiss an Orc before leaving Sam behind!

"Sam!" Frodo barely managed to restrain the blonde Hobbit as Sméagol curled, terrified, behind a thin tree.

"CALL ME A LIAR? YOU'RE THE LIAR!"

"Sam, stop…" Lucy was crying now, frightened both by Sméagol and by Sam's complete loss of control. "Please, stop…"

"If you scare him off, we're lost!"

"I don't care! I can't do it, Mr. Frodo! I won't wait around for him to kill us!"

"I'm not sending him away!"

"You just refuse to see it!" Sam barked, frustrated. "He's a villain!"

"We can't do this by ourselves, Sam," Frodo argued. "We can't get into Mordor without a guide, and I doubt they're renting them out along the edge of the mountains!" He tried to calm down a little farther. "I need you on my side."

"I _am_ on your side!"

"I know, Sam, I know." Frodo whispered, nodding carefully. Sam's loyalty to him would never come under suspicion. "Please, trust me." Sam was calm again, though still breathing heavily. "Come, Sméagol."

Sméagol cautiously crept out from behind the tree, scurrying past Sam and Lucy, the latter of which was wiping her eyes on her sleeve. Sam dealt him an ugly look before going to the red-headed girl. "There, there, Miss Lucy, I didn't mean to make you cry…" Lucy sniffled.

"It's all right, Sam, I know…" Sam put his arm around her shoulder, and Lucy patted her face to feel for tear-streaks. "I believe you, Sam. I really do. But…" She shook her head. "What can we do? We need Sméagol whether we want him or not. I'm afraid to go to sleep now, though!" Sam patted her back.

"Don't you worry, Miss Lucy," Sam muttered, eyes dark as they trained on Sméagol. "If you think I'm going to let that rogue do anything to you or Mr. Frodo, you're wrong. And if _he_ thinks he'll be able to…" Sam snorted. "He's got another thing coming to him!"

* * *

Not too many days later, the Ringbearer and his companions stumbled through the thick underbrush very near Mordor. "Suppose it's getting near tea-time," Sam muttered. "At least, in decent places where there is tea-time." Lucy had once found Sam's reminiscing about normal life comforting, but now it was just depressing.

"We're not _in_ decent places," Sméagol said. Sam rolled his eyes at the creature as he stumbled on. Lucy, head down and significantly tired, took three steps forward and bumped into Frodo.

"Oh, sorry Fro- Frodo?" Frodo's expression was vacant. This was somewhat common at this point, but behind Frodo's eyes there was something, something like… Despair. Hopelessness. "Frodo? What's wrong?" Frodo looked at Lucy.

"I don't think I'll be coming back, Lucy." Lucy's brow furrowed, and she circled around so that she was directly in front of him.

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"I don't… I don't think I'll be returning from this."

"Of course you will!" Lucy said. "Frodo, Sam and I certainly aren't leaving you behind, and we definitely plan on coming back. Don't you think the people in all those stories Sam spoke of had the same thoughts? They had plenty of times when they thought they were done for as well, but they were fine in the end!" She linked her arm with Frodo's and began to pull him along. "And you will be too. I promise."

Frodo's eyes were sad. "You can't promise me something like that, Lucy." She set her face into a determined expression.

"Watch me, then!"

* * *

Later on, after climbing from the underbrush, they came upon a tall statue that looked eerily similar to the Argonath statues. However, this one seemed to have been vandalized by Orcs: Its head had what appeared to be a steel, crudely made bear-trap clamped onto it, and there were red scrawls all over the stone. "I think these lands were once part of the kingdom of Gondor," Frodo said. "Long ago, when there was a king."

As they walked on, the sun made a rare appearance, shining down through the trees. "Hey- look at that!" Sam whispered. He pointed to the head of a statue, covered in flowers, that was bathed in the sunlight. "The king has a crown again!" Lucy giggled.

"Why, I haven't seen any real flowers in days!" She said. "Dark and dank as it is around here, I wouldn't think to find them this close to Mordor."

Just then, the light dimmed and went away, leaving their path bathed in shadow again. "Come on! Mustn't stop now- This way!" Sméagol said, gesturing wildly to the path ahead. The disappearance of the light had seemed to drain away some of their spirits, though, and Frodo, Sam and Lucy followed Sméagol with ever-present, ever-growing dread.

* * *

(1)- Wouldn't it figure: The first night of sleep Frodo gets in weeks, and _that's_ when Sméagol has a Gollum episode…


	44. Set Into Motion

"Good God, Gimli's snoring is enough to wake the dead!" Edmund hissed, pressing his pillow over his head. Nearby, Aragorn stood from his sleeping roll and went to the door of the hall where many had lain for rest. Susan, also awake, propped herself up on one elbow.

"Where are you going?" She whispered. Aragorn just gave a slight smile and a little wave before disappearing. Susan shook her head. "Rangers." Lying back down, she shut her eyes and tried to get to sleep.

Edmund, however, wasn't even sleepy. Even if he was, Gimli's snoring effectively prevented any drowsiness. Merry, placed more in the middle of the hall than to the side, breathed slowly at his feet. Pippin, two rolls away, tossed and turned. "You all right, Pippin?" He whispered.

The Hobbit rolled over, offering a tight smile to the boy. "Fine. I'm fine." But he seemed distinctly troubled as he rolled back over again. There was silence for a few minutes. Pippin must have thought that Edmund had nodded off, because he sat up in his roll, looked around, then threw back the blankets and got up, scurrying across the hall as quietly as he could.

And Edmund was not the only one who heard. "What are you doing?" Merry hissed, sitting up and casting his cousin an irritated look.

"Oh, would you lot stop _talking?_" Susan hissed, not bothering to open her eyes for a glare. Edmund ignored his sister, though, and pushed aside his blankets as well. Pippin had not answered Merry's question, and instead crept over to Gandalf. He started for a moment (Edmund and Merry could not see, but Gandalf was sleeping with his eyes open just as Legolas did), recovered, and then knelt down.

"Pippin!" Edmund hissed. "Are you mad?"

"Pippin?" Merry sounded a little more worried now, seeing the look of concentration on his younger cousin's face. Susan, still irritated but now curious as well, sat up.

"What mischief is he delving into now?" She whispered to Edmund.

"Dunno." Neither of them had moved from their make-shift beds, though Edmund looked ready to. Pippin carefully removed something from near Gandalf- Something round, wrapped in cloth- and scurried over to Merry's roll. Susan and Edmund exchanged swift looks before crawling over to the Hobbits.

"What are you doing, fool? Put it back!" It was the round, dark sphere that Wormtongue had thrown at Gandalf from the window of Orthanc. The one that Gandalf had been oddly concerned about the others looking at.

"Are you insane, Pippin? Gandalf's likely to kill you if he sees you with that!" Susan gasped. "Put it back before he wakes up!"

"What is it, anyway?" Edmund murmured, examining the smooth surface of the sphere, now seeing that it had thin, curving, fine white lines on the surface as well. Pippin shook his head distractedly.

"Dunno…" Slowly, he reached forward to touch the orb with both hands.

"Pippin, no!"

Before their eyes, a fire seemed to light within the surface of the strange orb, and Pippin began to shake wildly. Just then, in the center of the flames a small, thin, dark rip appeared, almost like an eye-

"_AAAAAAAAAAAGH!_"

"_PIPPIN!_"

"_GANDALF! GANDALF!_"

Pippin started convulsing wildly, screaming in pain while still clutching the orb in, what seemed to be, an involuntary grip. Susan attempted to rip the orb from his hands, but a sharp electric shock blew her back, knocking her to the ground. It was at this moment that everyone in the room snapped up from their dreams and observed the nightmare taking place. With a bang, the door flew open and Legolas and Aragorn came dashing in.

"Someone help him!" Merry screamed. Aragorn ran forward and seized the orb from Pippin's hands, only to start convulsing wildly himself. He fell back, looking faint, until Legolas caught him. The orb slipped from his hands and rolled across the floor, still blazing with fire. Gandalf, thinking quickly, seized a cloak from nearby and threw it over the orb, effectively halting its progress to the other end of the room. He whirled around, furious.

"Fool of a Took! Do you-" He stopped. Merry and Susan were crouched next to Pippin, who seemed to be frozen stiff. His eyes were wide and glassy, and he didn't seem to be breathing. "Stand aside- Stand aside!" Gandalf barked, pushing the two aside to kneel next to the Hobbit.

"What happened? What's wrong with him?" Edmund cried as Peter crouched down next to him.

"Silence!" Gandalf snapped. He grasped Pippin's hand for a moment, then put his right hand on the Took's forehead. He whispered something- A spell, perhaps. And a moment later, Pippin gasped sharply, waking. His eyes darted about frantically. "Look at me!" Gandalf whispered.

"G-G-Gandalf, forgive me…" Pippin squeaked, recalling immediately what he'd done.

"Look at me!" Gandalf insisted. Pippin did, blue eyes wide with fear. "What did you see?"

"I… I…" Pippin shut his eyes for a moment. "I saw… I saw a tree… A white tree in a courtyard of stone…" He stared up at Gandalf. "It was dead." A funny look came over Boromir's face. Peter knew why almost instantly: A few of Boromir's items bore the symbol of a white tree. It was a Gondorian emblem. "The city was burning."

"Minas Tirith? Was it Minas Tirith, Pippin?" Boromir asked hoarsely, eyes wide. "A white city?" But Pippin was unhearing.

"I saw… I saw… I saw… _Him_…" The Hobbit looked terrified beyond all reckoning, his voice high. "I could hear his voice in my head!"

"And what did you tell him, Pippin?" Gandalf asked patiently, though his tone had an underlying current of urgency. "Speak!" Pippin winced.

"He asked my name, I didn't answer. He hurt me." He shuddered.

"What did you tell him about Frodo and the Ring?"

* * *

"There was no lie in Pippin's eyes." Gandalf said later before Théoden and the others. "A fool, perhaps," Here, Pippin winced with shame. "But an honest fool he remains. He told Sauron nothing of Frodo and the Ring." His news was good, but his tone was grave. "We have been strangely fortunate. Pippin saw in the palantír a glimpse of the enemy's plan. Sauron moves to strike the city of Minas Tirith."

Boromir's head tilted down, and his eyes fell shut. This proclamation was as good as a death sentence.

"His defeat at Helm's Deep showed our enemy one thing: He knows the heir of Elendil has come forth. Men are not as weak as he surmised. There is courage, still, strength enough perhaps to challenge him." Gandalf's eyes flashed. "Sauron fears this. He will not risk the peoples of Middle Earth uniting under one banner. He will raze(1) Minas Tirith to the ground before he sees a king return to the throne of men!" Gandalf turned to Théoden. "If the beacons of Gondor are lit, Rohan must be ready for war."

Théoden looked less than pleased with this, and the slight gaze he shot at Boromir was missed by no one. "Tell me," He said coolly. "Why should we ride to the aid of those who did not come to ours? What do we owe Gondor?" Boromir looked angry, but he bit his lip and held his tongue.

"I will go." Aragorn said.

"No." Gandalf snapped.

"They must be warned!"

"They will be," Gandalf assured him, striding over to him, Legolas, Gimli, Boromir and the Pevensies. Then, in a low voice, he said, "You must come to Minas Tirith by another road. Follow the river and look to the black ships." Susan and Peter exchanged looks. Here was another riddle of Gandalf's: And truly, they were anxious to see the answer to it.

"Understand this," Gandalf said, louder now. "Things are now in motion that cannot be undone. I ride for Minas Tirith…" He turned and looked at Pippin in a way that spelled trouble for the Hobbit. "And I won't be going alone."

* * *

After much arguing with Gandalf, Boromir was finally permitted to accompany him. Someone else volunteered for the journey as well, oddly enough…

"No! No way!" Peter snapped, waving his hands sharply. They were following Gandalf, Boromir, Merry and Pippin up to the stables. The sun was shining and the wind was blowing pleasantly, but there were storm clouds brewing again between the Pevensie brothers. "There's no way you're running off to Minas Tirith after all the trouble we went through finding you again!"

Edmund glared at his brother, and Susan followed behind them at a slower pace, rolling her eyes. Yes, everything was back to normal…

"Gandalf said I could!"

"I don't give a damn!"

"It's not like you won't know where I am!"

"You want to go to a city that we _know _Sauron is about to attack- Knowing where you are is not the issue!"

"Peter," Susan finally intervened, stopping her brothers outside the stables. "You heard Gandalf. The war is on, now, and if Sauron wins, no place is safe. If anything, Edmund will be safe alongside Gandalf." Peter glared at her grudgingly, and Edmund was silently rejoicing in the fact that Susan was on his side for once.

However, Susan's point was valid. Even if any of them were the type to try and run for home if things went bad, they'd never be able to leave without Lucy, and they'd never make it to the Shire in time. Peter in no way whatsoever liked the idea of Edmund being in the veritable death-zone that Sauron was going to strike, but it wasn't as though Rohan would escape either.

Turning his back on them, he stomped into the stables. Edmund took this as a grudging sign of consent. "Yes!" He hissed. Susan put her hands on his shoulders, though, halting him for a moment.

"Ed… You will be careful, right? You'll stick by Gandalf and Boromir?" Her voice was nearly pleading.

"Yeah, Su. Of course." Edmund muttered, glancing down. "What else would I be doing?" Susan gave a small smile, and then hugged him tightly. Edmund winced- He'd never been one for hugs- but then returned it. "I'll be fine, sis," Susan chuckled.

"You haven't called me 'sis' in a while," She said. Edmund shrugged awkwardly. "Try not to let Pippin talk you into any mischief while you're there, all right?" Edmund nodded.

"Sure." They caught sight of Pippin's face just as Gandalf was lifting him onto Shadowfax. "Don't think he'll be in the mood for it anyway." Boromir motioned to Edmund.

"All right. Up you go-" He helped Edmund onto the back of a large, chocolate-colored horse. "You've got your sword? Your dagger? All right then. We'll have to see if we can't dredge up any shields for you two when we get to the city." Boromir's tone was a little distant and a bit too professional; He was in a state of dread at the prediction involving his home. Perhaps he'd be better when they arrived.

"How far is Minas Tirith?" Pippin asked, also sounding as though he'd seen better days.

"Three days ride as the Nazgul flies," Gandalf said. "And you'd better hope we don't have one of those on our tail."

"Gandalf!" Peter grunted, arms crossed. "You're not helping!"

"I wasn't trying to." Gandalf muttered. As he stepped back to get something from nearby, Merry held something out to Pippin.

"Here. Something for the road." Pippin examined it for a moment, and then looked at Merry sentimentally.

"The last of the Longbottom Leaf." He whispered. Merry gave a small smile.

"I know you've run out. You smoke too much, Pip." Pippin stared at Merry.

"But- But we'll see each other soon, right?" Merry and Gandalf exchanged dark looks, and the wizard climbed onto Shadowfax. Boromir made to climb on his horse, but Peter grabbed his arm suddenly.

"Boromir…" He shut his eyes, then looked at the Gondorian pleadingly. "Look after him. Please." He whispered. Boromir grasped Peter's arm.

"With my life."

Peter, Susan and Merry all stood aside.

"Run, Shadowfax- Show us the meaning of haste." Gandalf said.

"Merry!" Pippin cried as the white horse charged on, closely followed by the darker one. Merry stared at the stable doors for a moment, and then suddenly dashed out, running to the gates of Edoras.

"Merry- Merry, wait!" Susan called. She and Peter ran after the curly-haired Hobbit, bumping into a soldier posted on the steps as they went up the stairs. A moment later, they were joined by Aragorn. Merry stared out at the plains, following the riders until he couldn't anymore.

"He's always followed me," Merry whispered. "Everywhere I went. Since before we were tweens." He smiled, reminiscing. "I would get him into the worse sort of trouble… but I always got him out in the end." The light in his eyes dimmed. "And now… Now he's gone. Just like Frodo and Sam."

"They'll be all right, Merry," Susan whispered, a hand on his shoulder. "All of them. Keep believing that." Peter said nothing. He was too busy remembering the times that he and Edmund had gotten into that sort of trouble, and how they'd always managed to work their ways out of it. Before all this…

"One thing I have learned about Hobbits," Aragorn said. "They are a most hardy folk." Merry smiled… And then snorted.

"Foolhardy, maybe. He's a Took!"

* * *

(1): When I first saw this word, I thought it was a typo… It means "Demolish" though… Just wanted to clarify that for anyone who thought I meant "Raise".


	45. The Steward of Minas Tirith

Sorry for the wait between updates: I've renewed interest in other fandoms, and senior year hit me like a brick wall.

… I use this expression under the impression that it hurts when you run into a brick wall, though I've never actually done so myself.

…

My brain hurts.

* * *

For three days and nights, Gandalf, Pippin, Boromir and Edmund rode for Gondor. Gandalf and Boromir survived on little rest (Only an hour or so per day), and allowed Pippin and Edmund to sleep during the run. They passed through foreboding forests, across marsh-like plains and over hills.

On the dawn of the third day, they crossed the shallow, slow part of a large river. Boromir grinned. "Welcome to Gondor, lads!" He yelled. "We've just passed through the Mering Stream- the northern border between Gondor and Rohan!" To their right was an enormous mountain range

"It shan't be long now! We should be there by noon!" Gandalf called.

And they were. Just after noon of that same day, they came upon a city at the base of the mountains. It was essentially a cone in structure, large at the bottom and becoming thinner as it reached the top. A large, rocky ledge stuck out of the exact middle of the city, which overall seemed to be made of white stone. Boromir finally seemed to relax upon seeing the city calm.

"Minas Tirith," Gandalf said wearily. "The City of kings."

* * *

"Who goes there?"

"Boromir, son of Denethor, comes with Mithrandir, Peregrin Took and Edmund Pevensie."

"Boromir! Gods be praised, we'd wondered where you'd gone off to!" The guard on the wall cried. It seemed that Boromir's companionship was, even in such a dreadful time, enough to get Pippin and Edmund in without further questioning.

Once inside, they rode up each of the many levels of the city to the citadel. The streets were crowded with people going about their daily business, though few of them paid heed to the riders as they passed. The city was even more massive on the inside than it had appeared on the hill a ways off. Gandalf and Boromir urged the horses on quickly, with no time to waste. Time was of the essence, and they sent many people scrambling out of the way as they rode.

The citadel was a wonder within its own rights. It was at the very top level, the same level where that great rock jutted out through the city. The courtyard was neat and clean, with bright white stones on the walkway and-

… A dead, white tree in the center, surrounded by guards.

"Gandalf!" Pippin gasped.

"Yes, the White Tree of Gondor. The tree of the king."

"I thought Gondor didn't have a king?" Edmund said. Boromir shook his head.

"No. We have a steward- My father, Denethor. He is caretaker of the throne, and rules over Gondor in the absence of the king." Gandalf suddenly stopped, turning to look at them all.

"I believe," He said softly, casting a furtive glance at the guards, "It goes without saying that mentioning Frodo or the Ring would be highly unwise here."

"He already knows," Boromir muttered. "At least, about the Ring. I doubt he knows of Frodo." He stopped there, but Gandalf's deep blue eyes bore into the man.

"Is there any more that we should know here, Boromir? I do not wish to look the part of a fool before your father." Boromir cast his eyes down, and he looked away from his companions.

"It was why he sent me." He said shortly. "To retrieve the Ring to use for Gondor. It was the only reason he sent me to the council." But now he found the courage to look at them. "But I see now what you tried to tell me then, Gandalf. To try and use the Ring would be the death of us all. I do not desire it, and when the moment arises, I will tell that to my father."

Gandalf stared at Boromir for a moment… And then nodded.

"Good." The wizard turned to go inside, but then stopped short again. "And also- I would not advise mentioning Aragorn's role in this." He moved to go in again, but- yet again- stopped. "In fact, it would probably be better if you two left the speaking to Boromir and myself."

"Can we please just go in?" Edmund said, trying to keep the irritation from his voice and failing.

The doors opened into a massive hall, much bigger than Meduseld, with black and gold pillars on either side. Between the pillars were ivory statues of the kings of old. At the far end of the grand hall was a white throne atop a platform. Below the platform, at the foot, was another throne, this one smaller. In it sat a man with long, gray hair and dark clothing. This was Denethor.

He was looking at something in his hands, but looked up when Gandalf spoke. "Hail Denethor, Son of Ecthelion, Lord and Steward of Gondor. I come with tidings in this dark hour, and with counsel." Denethor's eyes, however, went straight to his son. A strange smile broke out over his face.

"Boromir… My son!" He said with a laugh, standing up and moving to embrace Boromir. Their friend smiled awkwardly.

"Father!" He embraced his father back, though his smile held a sort of wince to it, and his voice was a little tentative. Edmund began to like this man, Boromir's father, though. He seemed kindly.

"'Tis a great wonder to have you back in our city, my son," Denethor _seemed_ kindly, yes, but kindliness was not to be confused with politeness- he had yet to acknowledge Gandalf, Edmund or Pippin. "You have been greatly missed!" Boromir chuckled in a way that suggested anxiety, and he made a gesture to the trio behind him.

"And I come with friends, father!" He tried to steer Denethor's attention away from himself. "You know Mithrandir; This is Peregrin Took and Edmund Pevensie." Edmund and Pippin offered up tentative smiles. They died when Denethor's eyes landed on Gandalf.

"Yes." He said, tone suddenly flat. "I know Mithrandir." Pippin and Edmund glanced at each other; What had Gandalf done, precisely, to make Denethor dislike him? It was apparent that Denethor was displeased with the wizard's presence in the throne room, and Minas Tirith and Gondor at large. Boromir winced as his father sat back down in his throne. "And what does Mithrandir want?"

Gandalf's neutral expression did not flicker once during the exchange. "The enemy, my lord, is on your doorstep. As steward, you are charged with defense of this city. Where are Gondor's armies?" His tone was sharp, scolding even, and Boromir covered his eyes with one gloved hand; Denethor did not appear to be one who would enjoy being spoken down to. "You still have friends. You are not alone in this fight. Send word to Théoden of Rohan. Light the beacons!"

Denethor sneered at Gandalf. "You think you are wise, Mithrandir. Yet for all your subtleties, you think you have wisdom." Gandalf didn't even blink. "Do you think the eyes of the White Tower are blind? I have seen more than you know!" Now, Boromir's expression was one of confusion rather than discomfort. Edmund and Pippin sent him questioning looks that he could not answer. "With your left hand, you would use me as a shield against Mordor. And with your right, you would seek to supplant me!"

Edmund turned to Pippin. "Supplant?" He mouthed. Pippin shrugged. Edmund sighed and wished that Susan was there- She was a veritable dictionary. Whatever it meant, Boromir and Gandalf looked uneasy.

"I know who rides with Théoden of Rohan. Oh yes- Word has reached my ears of this Aragorn, son of Arathorn."

Oh… This was not good.

"And I tell you now, I will not bow to this Ranger from the North, last of a ragged house long bereft of lordship." Denethor hissed. And here he was, the key player in the team of people who believed that Aragorn should not be king.

"Authority is not given to you to deny the return of the king, _steward!_" Gandalf said loudly. Denethor stood, looking enraged.

"The rule of Gondor is mine, and _no other's!_"

There was silence. Dark, foreboding silence.

Gandalf must not have wished to waste his time and energy on this man who would not bend. He turned to Pippin and Edmund. "Come." He said, turning to leave the hall. Boromir made to follow as well.

"Boromir!" Denethor's voice cracked the air like a whip. Boromir stopped and shut his eyes, breathing deeply. "Stay. You and I have much to discuss." Edmund couldn't help but notice the love and admiration had gone from Denethor's voice. It seemed that Boromir's views would be subject to question, because of his newfound connection with Gandalf. Edmund did not envy his friend the conversation.

Though Edmund and Pippin had no desire whatsoever to leave their friend at the mercy of his father, they followed Gandalf out with apologetic stares. Boromir gave them a small smile, and turned back to deal with Denethor. "All has turned to vain ambition," Gandalf hissed as they left the hall. The doors opened, and Edmund gasped. There was something he had failed to notice before.

On the horizon, in direct view in front of him, was Mordor.

A set of black mountains covered in clouds, with a deep, red light glowing just below the tips of the mountains. Even at a distance, it looked horrifying. _Is that where Lucy is?_ Edmund wondered. He prayed not!

"A thousand years this city has stood," Gandalf said. "Now, at the whim of a madman it will fall! The White Tree, the tree of the king, will never bloom again."

"Then why are they still guarding it?" Pippin asked.

"Because they still have hope," Gandalf said. "A faint and fading hope that one day it will flower. That a king will come at last and this city will be as it once was- before it fell into decay." The city was beautiful, yes, but it did look a little worn. Still, Edmund thought that 'decay' was a strong word.

"I take it, then, that Denethor hasn't told them of his plans?" He said.

"Shush!" Gandalf snapped. "Not so loud! Do you not think that they will report to Denethor everything you say?" He led them to the end of the splitting rock, whose top had been smoothed in to fit with the courtyard, and stared out at Mordor. "There it lies," He said. "This city has forever dwelt in the sight of its shadow."

"I don't know why Sauron hasn't attacked it yet," Edmund said, shaking his head. "I mean, not to be the devil's advocate, but it's right here- Why not get rid of it to start with?" Gandalf turned to him.

"To fell a structure, one must first destroy its supports. Minas Tirith, particularly under Denethor's rule, has become weak. He makes poor decisions as to what troops to send where, and where to defend certain places at certain times. Sauron used Saruman to destroy a good deal of Rohan's people so that conquering Minas Tirith would be even more child's play than before."

Thunder cracked near Mordor. "A storm is coming," Pippin whispered. Gandalf looked grim.

"This is not the weather of the world. This is a device of Sauron's making. A broil of fume he sends ahead of his host." The clouds were rolling in. "The Orcs of Mordor have no love of daylight, so he covers the face of the sun to ease their passage along the road of war. When the Shadow of Mordor reaches this city… It will begin."

Pippin nodded. "Well… Minas Tirith… Very impressive. Where are we off to next?" He asked with a little laugh. Edmund was solemn, though, because he knew the answer clearly. Pippin knew it subconsciously, but was sincerely hoping that he was wrong.

"Oh, it's too late for that, boys. There is no leaving this city. Help must come to us." Gandalf said. "Besides, Boromir will not leave his home to perish. Will you not aid him in the struggles to come?"

Pippin and Edmund nodded slowly, sickly. "Of course," Pippin murmured, swallowing hard. Edmund sighed.

"As long as I don't have to deal with Denethor, I'm good."


	46. Lighting the Beacons

"So, I suppose this is just a ceremonial position? We're not actually supposed to do any fighting?" Pippin asked, examining the sword and uniforms obtained by Boromir for Edmund and himself. Pippin's expression, casual, faltered. "Do they?"

"We'll all need to fight in the times to come, Peregrin." Gandalf coughed as he puffed on his pipe. "Just do as you're told, and you'll be all right. Ridiculous hobbit." Pippin poured him a glass of water. "Ah, thank you."

Boromir sat by the bed that Edmund occupied. The third youngest Pevensie, much like in Rohan, was trying to sleep, but found himself unable. He thought of speaking with Boromir, but realized that now might not be a good time for small-talk; Boromir had been somber and moody since returning from the council with his father. He was silent, mostly, didn't smoke his pipe, and answered most questions with an 'mm-hmm' or an 'uh-uh'.

Edmund suspected it hadn't gone well.

He rolled over a couple of times, trying to get comfortable. He had never liked sleeping with his face towards a wall, but turning to face the balcony meant getting an eyeful of Mordor when he woke up. Edmund now understood why Pippin had been so eager to claim the bed in the corner.

"Can't sleep?" Edmund jumped. Boromir, still looking morose, waited for an answer patiently.

"Uh… No. No. I'm not really tired." It was, of course, at this point when he had to yawn. Boromir gave a small, weary smile and ruffled Edmund's hair.

"It'll be a long day tomorrow. And if not tomorrow, then the next day." Edmund nodded.

"I know." He paused, and then decided to cut to the chase. "Are you all right? You look like someone force-fed you a bowl full of live beetles." Boromir gave a short, humorless laugh.

"As you can guess… Things did not go well with my father. I love him, but he is stubborn!" His slight smile faded completely.

"Was it about the Ring?" Boromir snorted.

"The Ring. Of course it was about the Ring. It's _all _about the Ring in the end."

"He's angry you didn't bring it."

"He's not angry- He's furious. Disappointed." Boromir cringed and rubbed his temples. "To quote him, he felt 'betrayed'. It probably didn't help that I told him what I really thought about the Ring and about Aragorn." Now Edmund cringed. "He's too stubborn to see, too stubborn to understand what I do now. He will not listen to Gandalf's counsel. He won't even consider it."

"Why doesn't he?" Edmund inquired, sitting up. "Gandalf knows more about this than he does." Boromir gave his young friend a dry look.

"That's the element of being stubborn, Edmund: You ignore everything that's told to you even when you shouldn't." He shook his head. "You don't know the sort of guilt I feel for saying this, but my father will be the ruin of us all. Maybe even the world." He sighed. "Maybe if Faramir comes we'll be able to talk sense into him…"

Without warning, a light flashed from the sky outside. "What was that?" Edmund asked sharply, a deep sense of dread overtaking him. Boromir held out a hand.

"Stay here," He said, standing up and moving towards Gandalf and Pippin. Edmund, as was typical, ignored the order and followed him. A great green stream of light had shot up from the mountains of Mordor, striking the clouds above.

"What is that?" He whispered. Boromir shook his head slowly.

"I… Don't know."

Down below, Edmund could see the citizens of Gondor stepping out of their homes to gawk at the light in surprise and fear. Years of living in Minas Tirith told you that anything coming from Mordor couldn't be good. He wondered if Denethor was aware of the light as well… Gandalf put an arm around both Edmund and Pippin's shoulders, and it was only then that Edmund realized he was shaking.

"We come to it at last," The wizard mumbled. "The great battle of our time. The board is set. The pieces are moving. Now the game begins."

* * *

It was nearly dawn. They dressed (Well, Edmund and Pippin did) and quickly made their way from their room. "There is a task now to be done, boys, and you two-" Gandalf shot a meaningful look at Edmund and Pippin, "-Are the ones who must do it. A time for the smaller people of the world to show their worth."

They wound their way through the back alleys of the city, weaving through carts and barrels and large wooden crates. "What are we supposed to do?" Edmund asked, pushing a wicker broom hanging from a hook from his face. Boromir put a hand on his shoulder and pointed upward. Edmund looked. What he saw was yet another tower- One of hundreds in the city. It seemed that Gondorians were fond of building as many as possible. "I don't get it." He said flatly.

"Just come on!" Pippin, at any rate, did understand, and they ran away from Gandalf and Boromir.

It seemed that Edmund had misinterpreted Boromir's direction; He'd not been pointing to a tower, but to a high, rocky ledge behind it. Atop that, however, there did seem to be yet _another _tower. "Can you climb, Edmund?" Edmund snorted.

"Can I climb- Can Susan nag a person to death?" Pippin grinned.

"We live through this and I may have to tell her you said that. Climb!" He said, pushing Edmund towards the rock.

It was easier going than Edmund had thought it would be; the rock had many footholds, and he only slipped once. Once to the top, he understood why they couldn't have taken the stairs like normal people: The tower was guarded by soldiers. Edmund couldn't see why, though- all that was in the small, open tower was a stack of wood.

"I still don't see what our objective is, here-"

"We have to light the beacon!" Pippin seemed elated in the knowledge that he knew exactly what they were supposed to be doing and that Edmund had no idea. "Denethor won't send for help, so we have to send the message for him."

"Won't he be mad?"

"Oh, definitely. Gandalf's probably used to taking the heat, though- At least, that's the idea I got from when they were talking in the throne room…" He looked up at the timber pile. "I almost feel guilty doing this after meeting Treebeard."

"You might not have to. How are we supposed to light this thing?" Edmund whispered, keeping a wary eye on the soldiers. Detection seemed unlikely, though, as one was half asleep and the other was drinking. Pippin looked around, and then stopped.

"There. At the top. There's a lantern, and I'll bet my last stash of Longbottom Leaf that that basin is filled with oil. Give me a boost!" Pippin carefully pulled himself up to the top of the pile, taking care not to knock anything loose. He gripped the chain suspending the basin above the pile to reach the lantern, but the rope holding the basin and its chains up snapped, and the oil sloshed over the side, getting on Pippin and the pile.

"Careful!" Edmund gasped, casting a furtive look to the soldiers. They were sharing a drink now, and had neither heard nor seen anything. Pippin finally managed to get a hold on the lantern, and he brought it down to light the pile. Dropping it onto the spot where the oil had fallen, he grinned as it quickly went aflame.

"I did it!" He called quietly down to Edmund, grinning.

"Congratulations- Now get off there before you go up in flames too!" Edmund snapped.

"Oh!" Pippin remembered just then that he was still standing on the timber pile, and he quickly scrambled off to join his friend. It was good timing, too, seeing as how a mere second after Pippin had disappeared over the side of the pile the soldiers finally noticed the flames.

"Let's get out of here. If they catch us, they'll probably bring us to Denethor, and I really don't want him to know we've done this!" Edmund shivered.

* * *

"You did it!" Boromir boomed as Edmund and Pippin descended down to the balcony where he and Gandalf were standing, throwing his arms around the two.

"Announce it to the whole city, then!" Edmund hissed. "Besides, it was Pippin that lit it."

"Have the other beacons gone up?" Pippin asked, looking out over the mountains after Boromir released them.

"A moment or two after the first." Gandalf's eyes shone with pride. He nodded to a small, fiery dot on the horizon. "The beacon of Amon Din." Edmund shook his head, leaning on the balcony wall.

"Not as quick as a phone," He said. "But I have to admit- It's effective."


	47. Minas Morgul

They'd reached the mountains, making their previous terrain look like the beautiful woods of Rivendell by comparison. They'd crept into a long, narrow ravine, following Sméagol through a rocky tunnel. Lucy began to notice that the rock was becoming smoother and more stylized, like someone had shaped it into a wall…

Then she saw it.

This was the dark, evil castle of her worst nightmares. The one Lucy always pictured in the stories like Snow White and Sleeping Beauty, where the villains lay dormant, plotting their evil schemes against the heroines. This castle was black, but glowed an eerie green color in the darkness of the mountains. One long, menacing tower rose from the center, stretching up for maybe half a mile.

"The Dead City," Sméagol hissed. "Very nasty place. Full of enemies."

"Like?" Lucy whispered weakly. Sméagol hacked for a moment.

"Girlses doesn't want to know. Trust Sméagol." And in this one instance, Lucy did just that. Sméagol led them onto the stone path that led directly to the gate of the castle. They didn't remain long- Just moved far enough down to get to the section of the wall they needed to climb. "Quickly! Quickly! They will see!"

"Frodo!" Lucy hissed. "Come on!" Frodo was staring at a very frightening statue of a monster. Its eyes were shut, its tongue stuck out and it had ram horns jutting from its grotesque head.

"Come away! We have found it!" Sméagol called softly. "The way into Mordor! The secret stair…" Lucy looked up.

"Where?" Sam nudged her to the right, and she saw it. A thin, ridiculously steep staircase had been carved into the mountain side. "If it was carved there by an Orc… Then how do we know that there aren't Orcs in there?" Lucy asked warily. Sam sighed, already moving towards the staircase.

"We _don't_. But we'll just have to deal with that risk; there's no other way through, after- MR. FRODO, NO!"

"NOT THAT WAY!" Lucy whipped around to see Frodo stumbling down the walkway to the castle! She, Sam and Sméagol all quickly scrambled off the rocks after their friend. "What's it doing?"

"No! Frodo, stop- You walk in there, the Orcs will see you!"

"They're calling me…" Frodo whispered as all three of them latched onto him. He seemed to be in some sort of trance.

"Who's calling you?"

A deep rumbling was Lucy's answer.

They pulled Frodo back to the stairs just as a plume of green… Well, Lucy assumed it was smoke, wound around the tower at light-speed and shot up into the sky, piercing a hole through the clouds. Frodo grasped the Ring to his chest.

"Hide! Hide!" Sméagol squealed, terrified. They quickly scrambled behind the rocks, crouching down low.

"Sméagol," Lucy whispred, horrified, "What _else_ lives in this place as well as Orcs?"

"… I th-th-think they do, Lucy…" Sam stammered, pointing.

The great gray wings of a Fell-beast were pounding the air furiously, rising from behind the walls of the castle. Lucy didn't have to look to know that there was a Nazgul perched on its back as well. She and Sam quickly ducked down, not daring to even glance for too long. Sam drew his cloak over Lucy and Frodo in hopes of either comforting them or shielding them from the Nazgul's view.

"_EEEEEAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYEEEEEEE__!_" They all had to clap their hands over their ears as the Nazgul's shriek pierced the air. It was worse that fingernails on a chalkboard, and ten times louder. Frodo clutched at his shoulder, faced contorted in pain.

"I can feel his blade," He moaned.

To their relief, the screech stopped a moment later. To their shock, however, the gates of the fortress opened, and an army of orcs began to march out. They moved across the bridge, and stomped right past Sméagol, Lucy and the Hobbits hiding place. They held torches and ratty flags and crudely made spears and pikes. Lucy was shaking like a leaf, and she clutched onto Frodo; couldn't orcs smell humans?

The Fell-beast swooped out from behind the wall, yowling, and they all pressed down even further as it came almost directly overhead. By some miracle, however, they went unseen by the Nazgul and the orcs. "Come away!" Sméagol urged. "We must climb!" Lucy looked at him as though he were mad (Which was true, come to think of it).

"We'll be seen!" She gasped. "They're marching right there, and the stairs are uncovered!"

"They will not see! Their helmets are too much, and they are not looking!" Sméagol argued. "None of the Orcses will think to look up!"

And so, they climbed. Lucy was petrified, thinking any minute that one of the Orcs below would spot them and shoot them down from the wall. The stairs became easier to scale as they moved on, though, and they eventually went so high up that even an eagle-eyed Orc wouldn't catch sight of them.

"Up, up, up the stairs we go! And then, to the tunnel!" Sméagol seemed eager… Too eager. Lucy followed him reluctantly now, and had an ugly feeling about this tunnel. Apparently, so did Sam.

"Hey- What's in this tunnel?" He asked sharply. Sméagol did not meet his gaze, eyes shifting suspiciously back and forth. He ignored Sam, and made to keep moving, when the Hobbit grasped his neck. Lucy didn't even gasp- she'd grown used to this by now, and was even beginning to feel like doing it herself.

"Careful," Was all she murmured.

"You listen to me, and you listen good and proper!" Sam hissed at Sméagol, pinning him against the nearest rock. "Any harm comes to him or her, and you have me to answer to. One sniff something's not right, one hair stands up on the back of my neck, and you're through. No more slinker, no more stinker. You're gone, got it?"

What really frightened Lucy was the fact that Sméagol didn't look afraid of Sam like he had in the past. Didn't cringe or move away, didn't plead for Sam to let go, didn't yell for Frodo to help. Nothing. In fact, he had the audacity to smile as Sam moved away. He had the air of someone who was willing to put up with any sort of abuse because they knew that the abuser was about to get what was coming to them.

And Lucy suspected that 'what was coming' was in the passage of Cirith Ungol.


	48. The Beacons Are Lit!

At dawn in Rohan, Aragorn and Peter were sitting on the steps of a spare house that they and their companions were using. Aragorn was smoking his pipe, and Peter was staring out at the mountains languidly. He was vaguely wondering what Edmund and Lucy might've been doing at that time when he noticed something.

"Aragorn,"

"Mm?"

"What's that? On the mountain, right there?" Peter pointed to a small, red and orange dot that seemed to be flickering somewhere on the mountain. Aragorn went rigid, slowly removing his pipe from his mouth. "It looks like fire."

"It's- Come on!" Aragorn jumped up suddenly, turning and dashing towards Meduseld. Surprised, all Peter could do was run after him (He was ashamed- He was fifteen going on sixteen, Aragorn was in his eighties, and Aragorn was the faster sprinter). He just about tripped while going up the stairs, but caught his footing and arrived just in time for Aragorn to throw open the doors.

"The beacons are lit! The beacons of Minas Tirith are lit!" He reminded Peter distinctly of a small child screaming that he'd just seen a plane fly overhead. Susan, playing chess with Éowyn in the corner, looked up in surprise, as did King Théoden, who'd been looking over some documents with his advisors. Everyone present stared at the Ranger. "Gondor calls for aid!"

Théoden was silent for a moment. All eyes turned to the king. Then-

"And Rohan will answer. Muster the Rohirrim!"

Eomer, next to Éowyn and Susan (Who'd both stood up when Théoden had answered), nodded and gave a slight bow, giving his sister's shoulder a squeeze before turning and exiting the hall. "We're going to war, then?" Susan asked. Peter nodded, breathless.

"Seems like it." Susan heaved a quick, exhilarated sigh.

"Looks like we're going to see Edmund, then. Let's get packing."

* * *

"So where exactly are we off to?"

Aragorn was saddling Brego as Peter spoke. Not much of his earlier excitement had died, and Peter could practically hear him thinking _'Yes! Yes! Now we're getting somewhere! Now we can do something!'_

"To Dunharrow, where we'll set camp before moving on to Minas Tirith. Peter nodded, mind ablaze with a dozen different ideas and scenarios at once.

"What sort of battle are we looking at from Mordor? Worse than Helms Deep?" Aragorn paused, his hands freezing in place as he was securing the strap on the saddle. He could hear no nervousness in Peter's voice, but there was a somewhat forced tone of casualty there that seemed to be masking whatever anxiousness the teen was feeling.

When he turned to look Peter in the eye, the blonde had already turned his focus to his belt, where he was trying to adjust a loop for a dagger.

"That depends on what your strengths are in battle." Aragorn said quietly. "I suspect much of this battle will be fought upon the Pelennor Fields outside the city. There will be more room to maneuver." He paused again, studying the boy carefully. As he might have guessed, Peter's adjustment of the belt was more of a distraction than anything else. He had his entire focus on it, and not Aragorn, probably because he didn't want the Ranger to see his eyes and know his fear.

"But in return, there will be more enemies. Much like Saruman, Sauron has had time to amass his forces. Hundreds of thousands await in Mordor to face us."

This time, Peter looked up. He was shaking slightly, and his eyes screamed of fear and worry. "And until they face us," The oldest Pevensie said, "Those same hundreds of thousands are standing between my baby sister and a volcano. Right?"

Aragorn cast his eyes away.

"You said I was a son to you, didn't you Aragorn? Then tell me the truth; the real truth. What are the odds of Lucy, Frodo and Sam surviving this venture?" The Ranger drew in a slow, deep breath.

"It is a slim chance… That Frodo will survive." His eyes flickered up to meet Peter's. "Samwise and Lucy are his friends. He will place their safety before his own. Send them away if he has to."

"They won't go. Sam made a promise and Lucy's too stubborn." Peter felt his breath catch in his throat. "Right before my dad left, I promised him I'd look after mum, Susan, Edmund and Lucy. And when we left home, I promised mum I'd look after Susan, Edmund and Lucy. And I've promised Susan we'd all be all right. I'm making promises left and right that I can't _keep_."

His voice cracked and, frustrated, he turned back to the table he'd been standing near and started to examine and pick at the different types of daggers laid out, to see which he could handle best.

Aragorn was not an older brother. While he had been placed as protection for people before, he knew that this wasn't quite the equivalent to what it would be like to be responsible for a younger brother and two younger sisters.

It meant always being looked to for protection. For reassurance. For courage, and for comfort. No matter how old he or they got.

When the Wraith had attacked Susan and Edmund in the woods, who had they cried for?

Who'd held Susan when they'd thought that Edmund had been killed?

When Edmund went charging back into their house to get their father's photograph, who'd charged headlong after him, and then shielded him from the shattered window glass?

Who'd taken Lucy's hand in the train station and assured her that everything would be all right as they walked away from their mother?

Oh, sometimes it felt amazing to be the one that was relied upon to care for them. But other times, it was a burden. One he couldn't handle. And the strain was starting to show. What could be said to comfort him?

"You've come a long way, Peter." Aragorn said. "A long way indeed. From the confused boy at Elrond's council, you've become a warrior. You and your brother. And your sisters: If you had told them before all of this started that they would be fighting in battles like Helm's Deep, would they have believed you?"

Peter let out a little huff of a laugh. "No."

"You see, now?" Aragorn stood before Peter and put his hands on the boy's shoulders. "All of you have grown. Lucy has as well. I knew it from the moment I met her, Peter: She has spirit. She has the will that has made many a valiant warrior over the years. And she will be determined to return to you, Susan and Edmund alive." He smiled.

"And I would hate to be the force that stands in her way."

* * *

Before noon, almost every villager in Edoras was packed and ready to go. It was tradition for the families of the soldiers to see them off at the camp at Dunharrow. An ecstatic Merry had been accepted by King Théoden as an esquire of Rohan; Susan took this to mean that Merry would be fighting alongside them.

"An esquire- Can you believe it?" Merry paused a moment to nudge at his pony, trying to get it to move. Susan kept her horse still, patiently waiting for Merry. When the pony simply refused to budge, however, she lent him her aid.

"Here- Give me the reins. I'll pull him a little, and then he shouldn't have a problem moving."

"Now is the hour! Riders of Rohan, oaths you have taken. Now, fulfill them all. To lord and land!" Eomer bellowed to the soldiers around him. It was with this enthusiastic cry that they departed from Edoras.

* * *

You see this chapter here?

I hate this chapter. I'm sick of this chapter.

And do you know why?

_Because this was the chapter I was stuck on for so long_.

I think I started it around the time I posted the first few chapters of the Two Towers section.

THAT IS HOW LONG I'VE BEEN STUCK ON THIS CHAPTER. SINCE MARCH (Of 2009. As I write this note/finish writing this chapter, I've just posted the beginning of the Return of the King section).


	49. Sons of Denethor: Reunited

OKAY! And I'm updating!

Senior year is hitting me like the Witch-King's giant freakin' mace to my head! It was only just this previous weekend that I managed to shake the cobwebs out of my brain and write something again. That's when I remembered 'Oh yeah! Right! I haven't updated HRF in a while!' So here we go. Three chapters to make up for my absence. This one, I'm afraid, is rather short.

* * *

"Look! Boromir! LOOK!"

Boromir ran to the edge of the wall, now crowded with several soldiers and civilians, and looked out onto the Pelennor Fields to where Edmund was pointing. When he focused, his eyes widened, and his stomach dropped to his feet.

"Eru's Blood and Bone…"

"What are they?"

The creatures looked like dragons; Edmund didn't think they were, because they didn't look like dragons, but things in Middle Earth rarely matched their Earth-counterparts. In his world, Elves were small, squeaky creatures that made toys, but they sure as all hell weren't in Middle Earth. For all he knew, dragons could more resemble chickens than lizards here.

"Fellbeasts." Boromir's tone was dark. "They are the steeds of the Nine Black Riders. The Nazgul." He squinted, and felt his heart freeze in his chest when he saw exactly what it was the Nazgul were chasing.

Men on horseback, all in silver (They were far away, but what limited sunlight there was that day glinted off their armor) were charging across the field, trying desperately to out-race the Nazgul to the White City.

"They come from Osgiliath," Boromir whispered, more to himself than Edmund. "Then the city is lost." Oh, that hurt. It had been such a joy to reclaim the ruined former capital all those months ago, only now to have it overrun with Orcs once more.

"Osgiliath?" Edmund asked. Boromir pointed numbly to a jagged outline framed by the black mountains of Mordor, and Edmund realized that it must indeed be Osgiliath. Even from here, though, it looked as though it had seen better days.

"My brother is stationed there." Edmund's eyes widened, and he stared at Boromir. Ever since the incident in the woods all that long time ago, Boromir often wore a look of hopelessness on his face, and this was his chosen expression now.

"Maybe he's with those riders down there." Edmund said quietly. His timing, however, was poor, as at that moment one of the Fellbeasts swooped down and managed to pick up a man in its jaws, effectively crushing him to death.

"_Look!_"

"_It's Mithrandir!_"

"_The White Rider!_"

"Gandalf!"

Below, from the city's main gates, a white rider on a white horse charged out onto the plains, a white staff held high. Boromir stared, then squinted.

"What- Is that Pippin?" Edmund leaned over the wall a little more, also squinting, and saw that there was, indeed, a dark speck sitting in front of Gandalf on Shadowfax. They were so far away now it was hard to see, but it was there.

"Why in the heck would he take Pippin out there?"

The sky was unusually interesting that day. When Gandalf had said that Sauron was blocking out the sun to ease the passage of the Orcs, Edmund had assumed that the wizard was speaking figuratively. But indeed, there was a dark cloud stretched out from Mordor that stopped about halfway across the Pelennor Fields, and it seemed that the Nazgul were intent on stopping the majority of the fleeing soldiers from reaching the sunlight.

But then Gandalf showed his power again. From his staff a bright, golden light exploded, and it pulsed outwards towards the Nazgul and their hellish steeds. Blinded, the beasts shrieked and recoiled, turning from the soldiers to flee from the painful light. In a matter of seconds, they were soaring back to Mordor.

* * *

When the Fellbeasts turned back, Boromir immediately turned from the wall and hurried down to the main entrance of the city, Edmund tearing after him. He had a mind to tell Boromir to slow down, but then remembered Boromir's motivation, and knew that if it were Susan, Lucy or even Peter that had been involved in that scene, he'd be hauling his butt down there as soon as possible.

By the time they arrived in the courtyard below, the riders, breathless, terrified and exhilarated had all entered, and were being greeted by all who'd witnessed the events on the fields.

Boromir scanned the crowd with his heart in his throat. Faramir… Faramir… Where was Faramir?

Edmund, meanwhile, peeled through the crowd to reach Gandalf and Pippin, still seated upon Shadowfax and speaking with a man that-

… Looked very familiar.

"Edmund! Edmund!" Pippin looked happier than he'd been in a long, long time. Both Gandalf and the seated man turned. "Frodo, Sam and Lucy! They were here! Well, over there! Two days ago! They're alive! They're okay!"

It had been quite a time since Edmund had grinned quite so largely. "Really?" The man on horseback nodded. He stared at Edmund with a scrutinizing look.

"Edmund?" He repeated.

But before he could elaborate or Edmund could question him, a cry of "Faramir!" drew their attention. The man on horseback, revealed to be Faramir, Boromir's younger brother, slid off his horse with a bewildered smile and embraced his older sibling.

"Boromir! You're returned!"

"As have you!"

"This is your brother, Boromir?" Pippin asked, surprised.

"I can see the resemblance, actually." Edmund muttered, eyes flickering between the two sons of Denethor. If you looked at Edmund and Peter, you could see some vague familial resemblance, but it was certainly stronger between Boromir and Faramir.

"When did you get here?"

"About two days ago." Faramir nodded… And then the smile slid from his face.

"Have you…?" He cast a slow glance towards Gandalf, Pippin and Edmund. Boromir's smile disappeared as well.

"…I didn't."

"And he…?"

"… Is not happy."

* * *

Geez. I remember going on Youtube and finding some LOTR extras, and they actually had a part where Sean Bean, David Wenham and Peter Jackson were discussing the convenient resemblance between Bean and Wenham. Particularly the nose.


	50. The Deception of Frodo

The climb only got worse.

It was long, and it was difficult. They were literally scaling the side of a mountain; a fact Lucy constantly pushed to the back of her mind. She didn't want to remember all of the instances in which she'd heard of people falling to their deaths due to faulty equipment or insufficient planning.

And she didn't dare look down. Doing so would prove the end of her. Lucy was a stout girl, but seeing the hundreds of feet between them and the ground and imagining the sorts of noises their bodies would make hitting the rock below would be too much.

And when she couldn't stop herself from imagining it, she thought it might sound like the noises Sméagol made when he was smashing fish or some other poor animal against a rock to kill them.

There had been more than a few hair-raising moments in which one of them had slipped a bit, and each had been followed by a bout of nervous laughter that can only be imitated by people who've come within an inch of death and lived to tell.

"Careful now! Careful! Very dangerous are the stairs!"

While Lucy's mood had grown darker as the climb continued, Sméagol was now positively giddy.

Faramir's warning about the dark terror was echoing in her mind, along with an image of that smile that Sméagol had given Sam after the Hobbit had warned him against any trickery.

She couldn't bring herself to be cruel to Sméagol, but being nice was no longer possible. Yes, she was a little girl. Yes, she was trusting. But it would be a dark day indeed when Lucy was foolish enough to ignore the warning signs that Sméagol was positively exuding.

"Mr. Frodo! _Get back you! Don't touch him!_"

Lucy's head jerked up. Sam, Frodo and Sméagol were above. She was tired, and she had let her head droop for a moment when she thought she wasn't being watched.

"What? What's happening?"

"Why does he hates us so?" Sméagol bewailed as he tugged Frodo up onto a flat outcropping of rocks. "What have we ever done to him?"

Sméagol was starting to remind Lucy unpleasantly of her cousin Eustace. He had stayed with the Pevensies the previous summer, right before her father had been shipped off to serve in the war. Eustace's mother seemed to be immune to his faults, but Helen Pevensie had seen right through him and punished him whenever she caught him up to no good. And when he was caught, he'd whined and moaned, "What did I _do?_"

Like he didn't know. And like Sméagol didn't know.

"I'm getting right sick of his whining. He knows damn well what he's done. Pardon the language, Miss Lucy." Lucy shook her head.

"Don't worry, Sam. We're almost there. Soon we'll be in Mordor, and all we'll need to do is get rid of the Ring. Then it'll all be over."

* * *

"He took it! He must have!"

"Sméagol? No, no, not poor Sméagol! Sméagol hates nasty elf bread!"

Lucy forced herself awake at the yelling, and had half a mind to snap something that would have made Susan slap her. Sleep came with great difficulty here, and to have it interrupted was nothing short of a capital crime.

Her immediate thought when she heard Sam's voice was, _Oh Lord, what now? What is it this time? What's Sméagol gone and done now? _

"Lying wretch! What did you do with it?"

"What's on, now?" Lucy mumbled, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. When she opened them a bit, she found herself looking into Frodo's wide, alarmed blue eyes. This was a change; he'd been almost zombie-like for the last several days, and to see him this alert was surprising.

"The bread's gone. All of it." This got Lucy awake.

"But that was all we had left!" Frodo nodded, though he didn't look at her. His gaze was fixed on Sam and Sméagol. "What are we supposed to do? Eat the rocks? There aren't even any animals around…"

Lucy fell silent. Frodo was still not looking at her, and he'd gotten to his feet. "Sam… Sméagol doesn't eat the elf bread. Remember? From the marshes? He choked when he tried. He can't have taken it."

Suddenly, Sméagol let out a little gasp that was just a little too astonished for Lucy to believe. "Look…" The emaciated former Hobbit reached out and brushed at Sam's cloak… Causing crumbs to fall off. "Crumbs on his jacketses! He took it!"

But the crumbs, they were too large. Far too large. And Sam always carefully, neatly broke the pieces of lembas bread before eating them. Lucy smelled a rat: A big, blue-eyed, pale and bony _rat_.

"Liar!" Lucy cried, glaring at Sméagol and stepping forward. "This is another one of your tricks, isn't it?" Sméagol pulled back as though hurt, but she could see the mirth dancing in his eyes, and was bewildered that Frodo couldn't see it as well.

"And now the fat Hobbit has convinced the nice girlses that Sméagol is no good!" He whimpered. "Maybe she stuffed her faces along with the fat Hobbitses-"

"_Don't you speak of her like that!_" Sam delivered a hard punch unto Sméagol's jaw, knocking him back. Lucy was momentarily alarmed, thinking that Sméagol would fall over the edge of the admittedly small outcropping. But he didn't, and in a minute, Sam was on top of him, punching him and roaring about Sméagol's lies.

"Sam! Sam! _Stop it, Sam!_" Frodo grabbed Sam by the shirt and yanked him up and away from Sméagol. Sam seemed not to notice at first, still screaming about what a liar Sméagol was and how he wanted to kill him. Lucy kept her distance during the attack, watching silently and wondering if she really wanted Sam to stop.

"_Sam! NO!_"

Then, suddenly, Frodo released Sam's shirt and fell to the ground. "Frodo?" Lucy ran forward and knelt next to him. From the effort of pulling Sam off Sméagol, he was exhausted. While Sam was fair-sized and bent on beating Sméagol to a bloody pulp, Lucy knew that that shouldn't be enough to make Frodo collapse.

"Oh my- Oh, I'm sorry!" Sam had gone from murderous to apologetic in a matter of seconds. "I didn't mean it to go so far. I was just so angry!" He looked around helplessly before touching Frodo's shoulder. "Here, just- Just rest a bit."  
Lucy was about to suggest that Frodo eat something when she remembered that that option was out.

"I'm fine." Frodo's voice was toneless, flat again.

"No you're not!" Lucy said. "Just doing that knocked you off your feet. How do you think you'll make it to the pass? Or to Mount Doom, for that matter?"

"She's right, Mr. Frodo. You're exhausted." He set his jaw. "It's Gollum. It's this place. And it's that blasted Ring what's doing it!"

Frodo had been looking straight ahead, unseeing, but his eyes focused sharply once he'd processed Sam's sentence. He turned, slowly, and looked up at the blonde Hobbit, eyes holding a leery suspicion. Sam continued on. "I-I could help a bit. Maybe I could carry it for a bit. Share the load with you. Or maybe Lucy, since the Ring doesn't affect her?"

"I could do that," Lucy agreed quickly. She might never get to saying it aloud, but she could tell that the Ring was slowly doing to Frodo what it had done to Sméagol: Twisting him, isolating him, making him into its slave. He was becoming addicted to it, and she would just die if he ever called it 'The Precious'. "I could, Frodo, remember? Back when the Fellowship split?"

She had proved her trustworthiness then. And Sam his loyalty.

"Mr. Frodo, please-"

"_Get away!_"

The sudden noise and the sensation of being pushed over and landing on her back elicited a started, shuddery yelp from Lucy.

Frodo was looking at her and Sam with anger… And betrayal?

Sméagol was grinning horribly, and he scuttled over to Frodo's side as the dark haired Hobbit rose to his feet. "See? See?" Lucy heard him whisper. "They wants it for themselves."

"_Liar!_" Lucy stood back up and turned to Frodo. "We're not tempted, Frodo."

"Maybe not you, Lucy." Frodo said, his eyes fixed on Sam.

"He's not! He'd never!" Lucy cried, trying to draw Frodo's attention back to her, trying to get him to stop looking at Sam with that cold gaze.

"You don't know the Ring's pull, Lucy. You're too trusting."

"I'll trust Sam any day before I trust him!" Lucy screamed, pointing at Sméagol. "Frodo, Frodo, don't you see? Don't you remember? He'll do anything to get the Ring! Anything to split us up so he can take it from you!"

"He's a liar! A filthy liar! Go away!" Sam snarled at Sméagol, moving to maybe attack him again. But Frodo stopped Sam and pushed him back.

"No, Sam." He said firmly. "It's… It's you." Frodo drew back, voice misty, distant. "I'm sorry, Sam. I'm sorry, Lucy."

"But he's a liar, Frodo! He's poisoned you against us! He only wants the Ring!" Sam's chin was quivering- He was close to tears now. But Frodo shook his head again.

"You can't help me anymore."

"You don't mean that, Frodo! You don't!" Now Frodo turned to Lucy. She was not ready to cry. She had done her crying. Now she was desperate.

"I've kept you from your brothers and sister long enough, Lucy. You shouldn't have come." He paused. "Go home. Both of you."

This was too much for Sam. He slowly sunk down and tucked his cloak around him, tears streaming down his face. As Frodo turned away and Sméagol followed after, he began to sob, and Lucy rushed to his side, throwing her arms around his shoulders much like he had that night Sméagol had frightened her.

"Don't cry, Sam." She whispered. "Don't cry. Please don't cry. I believe you. I know Sméagol's bad. I know he's lying. I know you don't want the Ring."  
Sam looked up at her with his grimy, tear-stained face. "But what can we do, Lucy? We can't go home! We can't leave Mr. F-Frodo with the likes of him!" He took in a deep, shuddery breath. "But he won't tolerate us traveling with him anymore."

Lucy took a deep breath as well, weighing their options. She let Sam cry on her shoulder for a time as she did. There wasn't much Frodo could do if they insisted on following him, could he? And they had to protect him from Sméagol, whether he believed he needed it or not.

But at the same time, it would hurt to travel with him while he was angry at them. And the added stress of having to worry about Sam taking the Ring would be…

Ho, what was this?

Lucy's eyes narrowed. As she'd been thinking, her eyes had wandered over their sleeping area. And a trail of crumbs, undoubtedly lembas, led damningly from where Sam had been sleeping over to the edge of the tiny plateau. Lucy released Sam's shoulders for a moment, and she wandered over to the edge of the rock to look down. "Hey, now- Be careful!" Sam admonished in a quivering voice. "You'll break your neck if you fall!"

"Stay here!" Lucy said, moving over to the rough-cut stairs that they had used to climb. Descending was notably more terrifying than ascending; at least when you were climbing _up,_ you could look down and see exactly where you were stepping.

Some twenty feet down, after an agonizing and slow descent, Lucy turned her head to her right and- just as she had suspected- found three medium-sized pieces of lembas bread, still wrapped in their leaves, on the rock! She grabbed the pieces, tucked part of her cloak into her belt, and cradled the bread pieces in there so she could return to the rock without hindrance.

When she reached the top again, to the confusion of a worried Samwise, she pulled out the bread pieces.

"You think this might ruin Gollum's credibility?"


	51. The Growing Tension

And here's where we hit a rough patch.

I've been dreading this, honestly: Minas Tirith is where Boromir's death is supposed to count the most. Don't be too harsh, people. I'll do what I can.

* * *

In Minas Tirith, things were rapidly going from bad to worse.

Edmund had an eerie sense of déja vu when Faramir returned to them after meeting with Denethor; He wore the same look Boromir had, and was every bit as cheerful. They sat in Edmund and Pippin's room, with the two younger on the bed and the two older in chairs nearby.

"'My sons have failed me'," Faramir grumbled. "'The wizard has corrupted my boys into traitorous, cowardly swine!'"

Edmund gaped at him. "You're joking. He said that?" Faramir nodded, grimacing.

"Oh yes. He's quite disappointed in us."

"You would think," Boromir muttered bitterly, chewing on the end of his pipe, "That after having both sons and one of the wisest men alive tell him that to let the Ring fall into the hands of man is folly, he would at least _consider_ listening. But no."

"Well, he'll have to believe eventually, won't he? I mean, Mordor's banging on the back gate out there." Pippin said, nodding to the window with the ever-lovely view of the darkest place in Middle Earth.

"If anything, he'll make that even more of a reason to be furious with us." Boromir muttered. "He'll likely say that whatever coming destruction could have been avoided if we hadn't _failed_ him."

"What exactly did he plan on doing with the Ring? I mean, use it, obviously, but how could he use it to defeat Sauron?" Edmund asked. Boromir pointed his pipe at the boy and nodded.

"That's the point: He _couldn't_ use it. The Ring calls to men with the promise of making them powerful, when all it will really do is make them cause massive destruction. And the destruction would only be so much, and last so long in the hands of man, because eventually Sauron would reclaim what was his. In Sauron's hands, it is at its pique of power." He shook his head ruefully.

There came a knock at the door, and everyone stopped talking.

"Enter." Boromir called. The door creaked open, and a scrawny young man stood there.

"Lords Boromir and Faramir, Lord Denethor requests your presence." He hesitated, wondering if the next line was necessary. "Immediately."

The four exchanged dark looks before Boromir and Faramir rose from their seats next to Edmund's bed. "I would rather pitch myself into the darkest pit of Mordor than face him." Boromir whispered, rolling his shoulders and sighing. Faramir nodded wearily in agreement, and then suddenly snapped to attention.

"Eru, I'd nearly forgotten!"

Faramir turned on his heel and looked back to Edmund. "Edmund- You have a sister, Lucy? A little red-head traveling with Pippin's kinfolk?"

Edmund nodded wildly. "Yes! That's Lu!"

Faramir fumbled with his belt for a moment and eventually pulled from a small leather pouch a vial of ruby red liquid. "She bade me give you this. I don't know what it is." He handed it to Edmund, and he and Pippin examined the liquid.

"What is it?" Pippin asked. Edmund shrugged.

"I don't…" Suddenly, it clicked. "Oh! It's that… Ah… I can't remember what she called it, but it was that thing Lady Galadriel gave her." Faramir's eyes widened.

"Lady Gal- _Lady Galadriel?_ The Lady of Lothloríen?" He whirled to face Boromir, an accusing look on his face. "You didn't tell me you went to Lothloríen!" Boromir grinned widely.

"Didn't have a chance to!" He said brightly, momentarily forgetting their father.

"_Didn't have a chance to?_ You could have mentioned it in passing! Or even vaguely! But no!"

"We really must be going, sires." The servant said nervously, not wanting to incur Denethor's increasingly dreadful wrath. Edmund and Pippin chuckled as Faramir continued to berate his brother and demand to know anything else Boromir might 'not have had the chance to tell him'.

"Brothers." Pippin said. He cocked his head at Edmund. "Were you and Peter ever like that?" Edmund frowned, thinking.

"Maybe. I don't know." He paused, turning the small vial of healing elixir in his hands. "It's kind of hard to remember what things were like before dad left. I know we weren't always fighting then."

"Why'd your dad leave?" Edmund couldn't look away from the distant picture of Mordor as he spoke.

"He had to fight." He turned to meet Pippin's eyes. "Our country's at war too."

"I'm sorry." For a moment, they were silent. "We've never really had war in the Shire, y'know. It's always quiet. Always peaceful. I mean, occasionally we have to worry about the odd beast wandering about, but nothing worse than that."

Edmund saw the sad, tight smile on Pippin's face and knew he was remembering home. "We Hobbits are a peaceful, fun-loving folk. We don't trouble ourselves with the world of the big folk. We drink. We sleep. We tend to our crops. Have dozens of children. And that's about it."

Edmund caught the hint. "Sounds like it can get a bit boring."

Pippin laughed. "You have no idea. Merry and I, we've always made our own adventures. We wanted adventure when most Hobbits didn't. Frodo's not too different from us, and neither was his uncle. We're kind of the oddballs in the Shire, really."

"You're the oddballs here, too." The shared a laugh at that. "Do you have siblings, Pippin?"

"Sisters. Three. All older than me." They both shuddered.

"Three Susans." Edmund muttered darkly. "I don't know if I could stand it." Pippin moaned and shook his head.

"Being the baby is the absolute worse. I'm always the irresponsible one. I'm always the one who gets left out. Always being smothered. Always having someone keeping an eye on me. I'm always the _silly _one. And no one takes me seriously." He shook his head. "You're lucky. Second youngest would be so much better."  
Edmund was silent. It never occurred to him the problems with being the baby. Did Lucy ever hate being the youngest? He remembered when she'd told them about the Wardrobe, and how they'd all immediately assumed it was some kid's game. And one of them always had to be with her so she wouldn't get hurt or lost or into trouble.

Edmund was only two when Lucy was born, so he had little to no memory of what it was like to be the baby in the family. And even then, it was normal to be smothered at that age. He'd always thought Lucy had had it easy as the youngest, but now…

Hold on a minute.

Edmund frowned. Pippin nudged him. "What is it?"

"Just wondering… Boromir said… That he'd rather throw himself into the darkest pit in Mordor or something like that, right?"

"Right." Edmund took in a slow breath.

"How exactly did _that_ remind Faramir of Lucy?"


	52. Denethor's Decree

**_OKAY: Check out my profile for a poll pertaining to this story. Some of you have probably seen it already._**

ONCE AGAIN, I GIVE MANY APOLOGIES FOR LATENESS.

I'll give you the same shtick I gave my Bull vs. Boar readers: School has been like a brick to the head. LIFE has been a brick to the head. In March alone I nearly broke my toe, got a mixture of a cold/stomach flu, got rejected from my college of choice (Not depressing, just annoying), and lost my nine year-old cat to what we believe was a stroke.

So, yeah. Not much mind for the fanfiction.

BUT NOW I'M BACK. And to compensate, I bring you... Five chapters? I think? Oh well.

Oh, and one more thing: I don't know if I addressed this before, and if I did, sorry for repeating it. A few reviewers have suggested references to Macbeth that I could have put in here, and that it was likely that the Pevensies (At least Peter and Susan) would know them. I would love to take that criticism to heart, but alas, when my class was given the choice between Julius Caesar and Macbeth, everyone went with Caesar (Which was totally useless to me, seeing as how I've taken five years of Latin and know everything about Caesar down to what color undergarments he probably wore on the daily basis).

So, anyway, I was not ignoring your advice; I keep telling myself to get a hold of a copy of Macbeth (From what I've heard, it's actually pretty amazing), but if you haven't realized it by now, I am more than just a touch scatterbrained.

In fact, I could probably outshine Pippin in that category.

ENOUGH RAMBLING! STORY-TIME!

* * *

But once they saw Faramir and Boromir again, Edmund's worried question was quickly forgotten.

"He's _what?_" Pippin gasped, horrified.

"Ordered us to reclaim Osgiliath." Boromir's tone was mild; or, in blunter terms, a sham. There was no way he could be going into this with not a care or worry in the world.

"I'm sorry, maybe I misheard, but when I last checked, _wasn't that the city swarming with Orcs and Nazgul?_" Edmund's voice cracked slightly with hysteria towards the end, but neither of Denethor's sons could do anything to calm that fear.

"Indeed it is." Faramir said, having adopted the same manner as his brother. "I believe he's trying to punish us."

"By getting you _killed?_" Both brothers froze briefly, but then continued strapping on their armor.

"You can't go!" Pippin cried. "Edmund's right! It's suicide!"

"We have no other choice." Boromir said softly, slipping into the chest plate.

"What about Gandalf? Can't he do anything?"

"No. And we can't run to Gandalf every time we disagree with our father. It will only embitter us to him even more." Edmund and Pippin exchanged helpless looks- (_Say something!_) But they were both at a loss. Boromir and Faramir had clearly resigned themselves to what would be their deaths in the name of their kingdom… And their father.

When they were finished suiting up, Boromir turned to his young fellow Fellowship members. "Thank you. Both of you. You saved my life, and helped me see that it was worth returning, even when I didn't think myself worthy."

Boromir must have mentioned the incident with the Ring and Frodo to Faramir, because the younger brother didn't look fazed or confused in the slightest.

"Should we fall, protect this city for us. We will watch over you." Edmund was frantic, trying to think of ways to stop them from going. Pippin looked close to tears.

"We'd rather you look after us while alive, thank you." The hobbit croaked. Boromir smiled sadly.

"If I could." He embraced Pippin. Then Edmund. Took a deep breath, and then strode out of the room, looking back only once. "Farewell, friends."

Now it was Faramir's turn. He put one hand on Edmund's shoulder, and the other on Pippin's. "Your sister and your kinfolk stood amongst barrages of stone and Nazgul alike. They will not fail in their quest, and they will return to you so that you may laugh about it later." He smiled. "Never lose faith in them."

Edmund shook his head. "Never." He repeated weakly. Pippin could only nod. Tears were streaming freely down his face now.

And with a half hug for boy and hobbit, Faramir departed after his brother.

* * *

"Well, that's great," Edmund muttered, furiously wiping at his eyes even though they were dry. "We saved him, and now he'll use that chance we gave him to feed himself to those nasty dragon-monsters. Wonderful."

They couldn't stay in their room, but they sure as all hell didn't want to watch the up and coming massacre from the walls of the city with the other soldiers and civilians. Instead, they were wandering the now deserted circles of the city. Edmund's ears were tuned sharply for the screams of the Nazgul.

"And Denethor's eating dinner." Pippin muttered. Edmund was about to gape stupidly at the hobbit, briefly thinking that he had his stomach on his mind, when he realized the importance of the remark.

"His sons are running off to fight, and he's eating? What in the _hell_ is that man thinking?"

"He isn't."

Edmund and Pippin stopped.

Ahead of them, seated atop a small crate, was Gandalf. His head was bent; never had they seen him so defeated. Even when they had to forsake Caradhras for Moria. Even when he'd failed to get significant information from Saruman. Even when Saruman had mentioned that Frodo, Sam and Lucy would perish.

"So he's punishing them, then?" Pippin asked, eyes narrowed in an uncommon expression of anger. "For not bringing him the bloody Ring? He's mad!"

"Yes, he is." Gandalf agreed softly. He sighed as the two youths stood before him. "Théoden was stubborn… But reasonable. When he ordered the march to Helm's Deep, it was not wise. But his was also not the decision of an insane man. He weighed the options and took a risk. Denethor does not weigh options anymore. His goal is clear: Remain in control of Gondor at all costs. He will not stand for his sons undermining him.

"He means not to kill them. But he does not understand that this is what will happen. They will die. And he is wasting precious lives on a battle that is best fought here." Gandalf shook his head. "I approached the soldiers as they marched through the city. I tried to convince Boromir and Faramir to rebel against their father's wishes. But they would not."

"Blood's thicker than water, and all that." Edmund muttered. "What about Rohan? Aren't they supposed to be here soon?"

"King Théoden needs time. He will be drawing his forces from all parts of the country, and must wait for them to assemble before moving out. It could be days before he arrives."

There was a general understanding amongst them, but Pippin confirmed it aloud.

"And we don't have days, do we?"

Gandalf looked up, clear blue eyes dark with dread.

"No, Peregrin Took. We do not."


	53. Dunharrow

Dunharrow was a flurry of activity when the soldiers of Edoras arrived. Many soldiers had already gathered upon hearing word that service was needed to aid Gondor. There were men training, talking, examining weapons, eating around campfires and pitching tents. As far as the eyes could see: Tents.

"Make way for the King!" The soldiers called as Théoden and his men rode through the camp.

"Grimbold! How many?" Théoden called.

"I bring 500 from the Westfold, my lord!" Grimbold replied.

"We've got another 300 from Fenmarch, Théoden King."

"And the riders from Snowbourn?"

"None have come, my lord. Rumor has it the place was gutted by the Wildmen."(1) Théoden grimaced.

"I had hoped they'd only reached a few scattered settlements." He muttered ruefully. "But it can't be helped."

They rode to a higher plain of the land that looked down over the bulk of the camp. Dunharrow sat in the shadow of a massive, misty mountain. It was on this higher plain, after a few minutes, that the horses began to whinny nervously and stomp their hooves while trying to edge away from the mountain.

Susan tried to calm her horse, but the effort nearly left her with a nasty bite, and she drew back, brow furrowed. "What's wrong with them?"

"Something has them spooked, I guess." Peter grunted, managing to secure his horse to a post with only the greatest of efforts. Legolas and Gimli approached, the latter of whom nearly received a kick to the gut from a nervous horse.

"It's not just the horses. The men are silent as well. Stiff." Legolas' eyes flicked to Eomer in silent question. The king's nephew and now heir to the throne didn't look to be in the calmest of moods himself. But when he saw the curious glances directed at him, he took a deep breath.

"It's the mountain. The men grow nervous in its shadow." He twitched his head to his right, and the four turned to see a narrow pathway that cut through the rock and led deeper into the mountain.

"That road there- Where does it lead?"

"Some place unpleasant, more likely than not." Peter said. "It almost reminds me of Fangorn." Legolas nodded slowly, eyes stuck on the pathway.

"It is the road to the Dimholt, the door under the mountain." He murmured. Susan couldn't help but wonder if being an elf made you a veritable encyclopedia on everything in Middle Earth.

"And what would be under the mountain worth seeing?" She asked uneasily. "Not another Moria, I hope?" Eomer was also uneasy, if the way he regarded the path and the mountain was any indication.

"I pray you never learn. None who venture there ever return." His eyes went dark. "That mountain is evil."

Peter and Susan didn't dare doubt it. If trees could talk, then mountains could be evil, they reasoned. The earth had a life of its own here.

All at once, Susan saw Aragorn standing off to the side, staring at the path with a strangely intent look on his face. Then, suddenly, the look was bewildered, as thought he'd just realized something crucial.

Gimli followed Susan's gaze, and upon seeing Aragorn, strode up to the Ranger and slapped his shoulder, breaking the spell that the path seemed to cast over him. "Let's go get some food, eh?" The dwarf suggested, seemingly unaware of what he'd just interrupted.

Aragorn nodded vaguely, and Gimli went off. Susan took this opportunity to approach the dark haired man, looking between him and the path. "Is something wrong?" She asked. Aragorn hesitated… But then shook his head.

"No. It is nothing."

* * *

That night, Susan watched as Éowyn aided Merry in suiting up for the battle ahead. With the finishing touch, a Rohan soldier's helmet, she smiled and stepped back a bit. "There. A true esquire of Rohan."

Merry grinned and felt his helmet, disbelieving. Then quickly, he reached down to the sword at his hip. Enthusiastically, he whipped it out, nearly slashing Éowyn in the stomach in the process. "I'm ready! S-Sorry."

Éowyn had squeaked and jumped back a little further to avoid the cut. Susan laughed. "What were you thinking, giving him a sword?" She teased. "He'll be cutting the branches off of trees all day tomorrow."

"It's not even that sharp," Merry mumbled, blushing. "Again, sorry." Éowyn clucked her tongue.

"Well, that's no good. You won't kill many Orcs with a dull blade. Come on." She ushered him out of the tent. Susan giggled and followed after. Éowyn shooed Merry on to the smithy (He was swinging the blade around dangerously, and Susan suspected she wanted to avoid casualties).

Nearby, Eomer and Gamling were seated at the fire, eating. "You shouldn't encourage him." Eomer mumbled. Éowyn's eyes narrowed at her brother. Susan was slightly dazed under the realization that this was the first time she was witnessing a brother-sister disagreement… That did not involve her, Lucy, Edmund or Peter.

"And you should not doubt him."

"I do not doubt his heart; only the reach of his arm." He and Gamling shared a chuckle at that, and Éowyn swapped a look with Susan: _Brothers. _

_I know_.

"What Merry lacks in reach," Susan said coolly, crossing her arms. "He makes up for in determination and advantage. You shan't see Orcs bending over to fight him." Indeed, Merry's size would allow him to pass through crowds of Orcs with a slightly less likelihood of being hit.

"Exactly the problem." Eomer said. "They won't fight him, so they'll turn to the others." Éowyn's glare deepened.

"Why should Merry stay behind? He has just as much reason to fight as you do. Why should he not fight and die protecting those he loves?" She turned to go back to the tent, and Susan made to follow her, fully prepared for a lengthy conversation on just how bone-headed brothers could be.

But Eomer stood up, not content with his little sister having the last word. "You know as much of war as that Hobbit." He remarked. Oh, those were fighting words. But as Éowyn moved to respond, Eomer continued.

"When the fear takes him, and the blood and the screams and the horror of battle take hold, do you think he would stand and fight?" He asked, eyes boring into the two young women. "He would flee."

"He would not." Susan said, no longer content with keeping silent. "He's no fool. He knows what's at stake. What we have to lose. He understands that the time to fight has come." Eomer stared at her, unbelieving.

"War is a province of men." Was all he said before turning back to the fire.

* * *

1: In 2006 (I believe), a game called Lord of the Rings: The Third Age was released. Original characters moving along the same path as the Fellowship throughout the story (I recommend it, it's a fantastic game). I can't be 110% certain, but there was a level in the game with a village of sorts that had been torn apart, and I think it may have been Snowbourn (I'd have to check).


	54. A Province of Boys, Hobbits and Women

"A province of men! Pah!"

Éowyn looked ready to spit. "Is Peter ever such an insufferable know-it-all, or is it only my older brother?" Susan cast the blonde woman a flat look.

"Peter can be worse. It was always Ed he managed to make the most angry, though. Edmund always thought that Peter was trying to take dad's place."

"Has your father died?"

"No. Gone off to war." Éowyn sighed, pacing the length of the tent as Susan sat on the bed.

"It seems everyone has." Her eyes narrowed. "Except for me." She turned back to face Susan, and moved over to the bed. "May I confide in you?"

Susan smiled. "Of course." Éowyn bit her lip in thought, planning her words carefully.

"Had my uncle not forbidden it, I would have stood and fought at the Hornburg with the men. And I would do so now, were it not, again, for his refusal." Susan nodded. Indeed, Éowyn had seemed quite discontented with being herded into the caves with the other women and children.

Éowyn was silent for another moment, as though debating over whether or not she should continue. She then knelt before the girl, whispering in the way Susan had with Lucy when sharing secrets of a sisterly nature. "I must have your word, Susan, as a fellow lady of the sword: You will not tell my uncle? Nor my brother? Nor anyone else who might hinder me?" Susan shook her head, the deepest sincerity in her eyes. She had kept secrets before.

Éowyn's eyes gleamed with determination and strength that Susan prayed she could one day mirror. "I am every bit as capable with a sword as my brother, though he will tell you otherwise. And when I spoke for Merry to him, I also spoke for myself: I want to fight and even die to protect the people and land that I love.

"I shall go to my uncle tomorrow and ask once more for his permission to fight. Should he refuse…" She glanced quickly to the entrance of the tent, then back to Susan, lowering her voice even further. "I intend to fight anyway." Susan's eyes widened.

"You'll fight anyway? But how?"

"My plan is to dress as a soldier of Rohan and ride out with the men. It is tradition for the women to accompany the men to this camp to see them off, and I know well that there will be chaos tomorrow morning. I will bid my uncle and brother farewell, and then don the armor of a soldier and follow. With six-thousand men, I hardly think I will be noticed."

Susan was in awe. If her father had ever told her to stay behind in a situation like this, would she have the strength to disobey his orders? If Éowyn did not die on the field, what would her uncle say when she was discovered? Éowyn would be one among thousands of soldiers, all because she wanted to, with her own hands, defend those she loved. What courage!

Suddenly, some excited chatter from right outside the tent interrupted them. Éowyn frowned (Her immediate thought was that she'd been overheard), and both she and Susan stepped outside.

"What's going on?" The lady of Rohan said to the small group of whispering soldiers.

"It's Lord Aragorn, my lady," One with a dark red beard whispered. "He plans to take the Dimholt path under the mountain!"

* * *

Éowyn went to find Aragorn while Susan went to find the other Fellowship members. Peter, Legolas and Gimli were around the fire. Peter and Gimli were eating, and Legolas could just as easily have been sleeping; he always slept with his eyes open, and she knew he probably had the discipline to stand while asleep.

When Gimli saw her, he set his plate down. "Aye, lass, you look as though you've seen a ghost!"

"It's Aragorn. Some of the soldiers said he's going to take that path into the mountain tonight." If Legolas had been sleeping, he was certainly awake now.

"The Dimholt Road?"

"That really eerie looking place that just reeks of trouble?" Peter said, sounding as though he was hoping his sister was joking. When Susan nodded, that hope was crushed.

"Éowyn's gone to find him now." She fixed her gaze on Legolas, expression clear: _What do we do? Let him go?_ Legolas read this look and thought for a moment.

"That path is riddled with dangers. He should not go it alone." The elf said.

"And he shan't!" Gimli agreed heartily. He was a dwarf, after all- Why would a mountain scare him? "What is he thinking, trying to leave us behind? Wasn't it he who declared that we should give chase to the Uruk-Hai and reunite the Fellowship?"

"Probably one of those things where he thinks he needs to do it by himself." Peter said.

"Well, let us go intrude upon him, then!"

* * *

Gimli waited near one of the tents at the edge of the camp, near the Dimholt path while Legolas and Susan went to get their horses. They returned just as Aragorn was trying to send Gimli away.

"This time you must stay, Gimli." When the elf, boy and girl pulled up behind him, leading their horses, he looked surprised, if not a bit distressed.

"Have you learned nothing of the stubbornness of dwarves?" Legolas asked smoothly, smiling.

"Or friends in general?" Susan added. Aragorn looked around at them, looking quite tempted to try and convince them to leave, but also realizing that such an attempt would be fruitless.

"You might as well accept it, laddie." Gimli said gruffly, in a tone that would have no opposition. "We're coming with you."

Aragorn sighed, looking around at their determined faces. "There is nothing I can say to convince you?"

Legolas shook his head. "No." Peter looked around at everyone uneasily, then decided that now was as good a time as any to speak up.

"Actually," Everyone turned to him. "…I think I'll stay." He looked to Aragorn. "Don't get me wrong. I'm not scared. It's just…" He trailed off. Aragorn nodded slowly.

"You want to ride with Théoden to Minas Tirith." Peter nodded. Susan was stunned, and she directed this expression at the others, as though pleading with her eyes for them to convince Peter to come.

There were only about 6,000 men that would ride out the next day. It sounds large when you first hear it, but then when you hear about the thousands more waiting for you at Mordor…

The odds of Peter dying were high. Susan's heart leapt into her throat.

"Are you sure, laddie?" Gimli whispered, also taken aback by the news. Peter nodded slowly, and Susan knew he wanted to find Edmund at Minas Tirith.

'Come with us!' She wanted to scream. 'Come with us, and we'll get there! It won't matter how we get there as long as we do!'

But there would be no convincing her older brother. And he would be content in the knowledge that Susan was safe with Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli.

"I'm sure." The man, elf and dwarf all exchanged looks. Susan looked helpless.

"We will take our leave then, Peter. Are you still coming, Susan?" Aragorn asked. Susan looked between her friends and her brother. Peter offered her a smile.

"Go on, Su. I'll see you later." Susan couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. All she could do was throw her arms around her brother for what could very well have been the last time.

"Don't you dare die." She croaked. Peter's smile faded slightly.

"I won't." When Susan finally released him, the others took their turns embracing and offering their luck and farewells to Peter.

"Stand strong," Aragorn whispered. "And remember what you fight for." Peter nodded wordlessly.

And then they were gone.

Peter was left standing on his own, and wondering exactly how it would be to go into battle without them by his side.


	55. Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here

Deep into the mountains they rode, and in time, they saw the sun rise and hover overhead. The tall, jagged rocks cast eerie shadows against the ground, though other than that and the deafening silence, there was very little that was really disturbing about the mountain. It was made of off-white rocks and sparse vegetation, but there were no animals. Not even birds.

Susan wondered if maybe she and Peter had been missing something. Clearly there was something about this mountain that had bothered the others.

The horses could be explained because they were animals, and therefore more in tune with the earth. Legolas and Gimli were not human, and by definition tended to live closer to the earth, and they seemed to feel it. Aragorn was not entirely human, so his reaction could be explained too.

And the soldiers; had it merely been the lore of the mountain that frightened them, or was it something deeper? Much like the Morgul wound or the call of the Ring, Susan wondered if maybe this was just something that wasn't affecting her or Peter because they were not of Middle Earth.

"So what exactly are we trying to accomplish with this?" She asked, eyeing the rocks warily.

"We go to find reinforcements." Aragorn said softly.

"Reinforcements?" Gimli grunted. "What sorts of reinforcements would linger in a place such as this?" However skeptical he was, however, Susan noted that the dwarf kept his voice reasonably low as he spoke, much like he had in the forests of Lothloríen while explaining the legends of the 'witch'.

"Cursed ones." Legolas remarked. He too spoke softly, as though the rocks had ears. "Long ago, the Men of the Mountains swore an oath to the last king of Gondor, to come to his aid, fight when he needed them."

"Given that they're cursed, can we assume that that oath was broken?" Susan asked as a slight wind ruffled their hair.

"Yes. They fled, vanishing into the darkness of the mountain. Isildur cursed them, never to rest until they fulfilled their pledge." Susan urged her horse on a little faster so she wouldn't have to yell ahead to him.

"But Isildur died centuries ago, didn't he?"

"Over three millennia ago."

"So given that time, these men we're looking for… They're ghosts?" The first thing that popped to mind- And you would think she would have abandoned such impulses by now- was, 'That's impossible'. But the rule that she had tried to establish in her mind was that anything- _Anything_- was possible in Middle Earth.

"In a sense. Their bodies have decayed and passed on, and their bitter spirits linger on in the heart of the mountain."

"But then what are we doing? If they didn't help Isildur then, why will they help us now?" Legolas' expression was wry.

"Indeed. 'Who will call them from the grey twilight? The forgotten people? The heir of him to whom the oath they swore. From the North he shall come. Need will drive him. He shall pass the door to the Paths of the Dead.'"

It was about halfway through Legolas' speech that Susan realized that he was not stating this: He was repeating it. It sounded distinctly like a prophecy, and she remembered something crucial that had been pushed to the back of her mind in favor of more pressing details:

Aragorn was the Heir of Isildur. Boromir had stated that during the council, and Legolas himself had followed by confirming that Aragorn was thereby heir to the throne of Gondor.

Who would call them from the grey twilight?  
It seemed that Aragorn would.

They slid into a narrower path framed by tall, serrated rocks that led into a small alcove sprinkled with a few dead, broken trees. Aragorn dismounted, and the others followed his lead. At the end of the alcove was what Susan first mistook for a particularly dark rock, when in reality it was a doorway.

There was no light inside. No torches. No reflected sunlight.

And they were supposed to go down there.

"The very warmth of my blood seems stolen away." Gimli muttered, fingering his axe nervously.

"You too?" Susan responded, trying desperately to see even the dimmest of glimmers from the foreboding entry.

Now that they were closer, they could see the details of the doorway better: Wedged into the stones cemented on either side of the door were four skulls, and in the cracks between the door and the rest of the rock? Even more skulls! And in the crude slab of stone that served as the arch, several cave-man like drawings were etched. In the middle was an eerie depiction of an eye.

Susan, much like before, was uncertain as to whether or not Legolas was stating more Elvish wisdom or if he was somehow reading a message off those drawings, but he said "The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead, and the dead keep it. The way is shut."

As if on cue, one of the strangest noises that Susan had ever heard- A cross between a ghostly moan and a particularly energetic gust of wind- echoed from the inner darkness, and a cloud of mist rolled out to cover them.

The horses completely panicked and bucked wildly, pulling away from their masters and charging away. "Brego!" Aragorn called, but to no use. The horses were too spooked to remain on the mountain.

"It's a straight path back," Susan said, her hands trembling as she pulled out an arrow. "They should be fine."

"It's more of us I'm worried about!" Gimli whispered, staring at the doorway with fear in his eyes. Aragorn, however, turned to the door with defiance.

"I do not fear death!" He hissed, unsheathing his sword and moving for the entry. Legolas hesitated, but then followed. Susan and Gimli were left staring after them. They were not eager to enter the dark depths of the mountain, but they'd be damned if they'd stay outside and quiver like cowards!

"Well, this is a thing unheard of." Gimli muttered to the girl. "An elf would go underground where a dwarf dare not? I'd never hear the end of it!" Susan let out a nervous laugh.

And with that, dwarf and girl warily set off into the Path of the Dead after their friends.


	56. Dernhelm the Rider

Éowyn had been right, even if Susan wasn't there to witness it: Dunharrow was a flurry of chaos the next morning as the men packed up and prepared to ride out and face Mordor at Minas Tirith.

Peter was shaking. He forced himself to stop whenever someone got close enough to tell, but once they were gone, he started right up all over again.

This would, at least, be the first battle he'd fought where he didn't have to look over his shoulder to make sure Edmund or one of the girls was all right. At least there was that. But honestly, in battles past, he'd drawn strength from the other Fellowship members, and knew that, come thick and thin, they were watching his back. Now he would have to watch his own.

It seemed that Merry would not be fighting after all. Théoden had forbade him; Hobbits, apparently, could be esquires of Rohan, but could not ride to war. None of the other Riders could bear him as a burden.

"I'll do it, then." Peter had said. "He can ride with me. If I can fight with Susan sitting behind me, I can fight with Merry behind me." But Théoden refused. Mayhap he had recalled that the one time he'd seen Peter and Susan fighting on a horse together, when the wargs had attacked the refugee column from Edoras, they had been knocked down in under ten seconds.

"No, Peter. You will need as much range as possible. I will say no more." And they had watched him ride off. Peter looked between the King's departing form and his young Hobbit friend, trying to think of something to say that would comfort Merry.

"Merry…" But Merry shook his head.

"No. Thank you, Peter. You tried." He looked almost as devastated as he had when Pippin had rode away with Gandalf.

"But it's not fair! You should be able to fight. And I can handle it!" Merry shook his head slowly, removing his helm.

"Don't get the king mad at you on my account, Peter." He sat down on one of the seats placed around their doused campfire. "I suppose I'll have to return to Rohan, or wait here until the battle's over and then go to Minas Tirith."

"Or you can ride with me, young Hobbit."

Both boy and Hobbit jumped with surprise.

Behind them, with a dark-brown horse as his steed, was a Rider. Peter could see some light blonde hair under the back of his helmet, and he was reasonably pale. He was also slighter in stature than most of the men in the camp.

"Who are you?" Peter asked.

"A man of few words. I am called Dernhelm." He turned back to Merry. "I will hide you under my cloak as we travel. Once we are a good distance away, they will not go to the trouble of sending you back."

Merry had a curious look in his eye, maybe even suspicious, but accepted the hand that Dernhelm offered, and with both the Rider and Peter's aid, clambered to sit before him. And as Peter watched the curly-haired Hobbit, recognition and realization came to his face.

Peter pressed his chance before Dernhelm could ride off. "H-Have we met?" He asked, squinting at the Rider. Dernhelm shook his head.

"No. Perhaps you have seen me in camp. We must ride now." And he took off before Peter could press the subject further.

Peter shook his head, though, and went to untie his horse, hoping thoroughly that Théoden was too busy to notice Merry's absence and question Peter as to his whereabouts.

"I swear," He murmured to his horse. "That man seemed so _familiar_…"

* * *

Yes. Peter is that dense.

Just kidding, just kidding…

And I know, short chapter, but I don't want to start the battle just yet (There's supposed to be a day or two gap between Rohan setting out and then arriving to Pelennor, right?)


	57. The Assault on Minas Tirith Begins

It was the banging of the drums and the rhythmic chanting that finally drew Pippin and Edmund to the walls of the city to look out at the fields.

What they saw there nearly gave them both a heart-attack.

"Holy-jumping-Hell!" Edmund gasped.

There had to be hundreds- _thousands_- of Orcs, marching in neat columns across the Pelennor Fields from Osgiliath. Scattered throughout the columns were massive trolls with drums strapped to their chests, banging them in time with the chanting (Edmund realized with dread that this probably meant that these trolls were reasonably smarter than the one they'd met in Moria).

Also scattered amongst the columns were tall, massive… _Things_ that Edmund couldn't really quite make out. They were tall, and somewhat rectangular, but if they were being carried by Orcs, they couldn't be anything good.

Pippin was breathing heavily. "But where are the soldiers? Are they still at Osgiliath?"

Edmund didn't have it in him to answer. His heart was in his throat, choking him, and the realization of what had probably happened to Boromir, Faramir and their men nearly brought tears to his eyes.

Just then, as though on cue, they heard shouting from the soldiers below as they struggled to open the gate. Edmund and Pippin exchanged shocked, stricken, and maybe even hopeful stares. Then they charged down to the main courtyard, nearly falling head over heels on the stairs.

The gates were opened, and there was a horse- One horse, of the seventy or so that had left- and that horse bore two people: One slumped in the saddle, tied on by the reins, the other being dragged, with his foot tied to the right-hand stirrup.

Faramir and Boromir.

Faramir was being dragged. Boromir was on the saddle. Both were unconscious, maybe worse.

"_No!_"

Faramir had been shot with two arrows, in the right shoulder and just above the groin.

"_Boromir! Faramir!_"

Boromir had been shot with two in the back, and another in his left thigh. There was a dark spot of blood visible on his head.

Edmund and Pippin watched, horrified, as nearby soldiers rushed forward to release the brothers.

"Are they all right? Are they alive?"

"Stay back, boy! Bring a pair of litters! Now!"

There were dark mumblings among the men, and from where they stood, neither Edmund nor Pippin could see if their Gondorian friends were alive.

"Get Gandalf." Edmund jumped. Pippin was looking up at him. "I'll stick with them. You go and get Gandalf!" The dark haired Pevensie nodded.

"Right. Right!" And without hesitation, he charged off up the stairs and out of sight. But a moment later, he reappeared. "Pippin! Where is Gandalf?"

* * *

Pippin, of course, didn't know. So Edmund spent the better part of the next ten minutes asking around to those who could actually tolerate questions after seeing exactly what was waiting for them on the Pelennor Fields.

Eventually, by the time he found Gandalf on one of the ramparts, looking out at the army and speaking with a few men, Edmund was almost completely out of breath. But he was frantic in his fear and desperation, and he did what he could.

"Gandalf! Gandalf!"

The White Wizard turned. "Edmund! What is it?"

"Boromir- Faramir- Back-" Gandalf's eyes widened. He must not have heard the commotion at the gates.

"What? Alone? Are they alive? Speak quickly!" Gandalf was sharp, and normally this would have irritated Edmund, but not today. Not now.

"I-I- I don't know. They wouldn't- Wouldn't tell us. They were hurt, though. Badly."

"Of that there is no doubt. Come! They will have ferried them to their father. To the Citadel Courtyard!"

They set off at a trot down the white-stoned streets. But soon, Edmund had to stop, leaning against the wall of a shop and clutching a stitch in his side. "H-Hold on- I- I have to-"

It was, at that moment, that Edmund found new motivation to move.

As he tried to explain to Gandalf, something came falling from the sky, landing with a clank directly in front of Edmund. For a moment, he thought it was a rock, but realized next that it was metal, a helmet, and in that helmet was-

Edmund let out a choked, breathless dry, and suddenly Gandalf's arm was around his shoulders and pulling him away from the ghastly sight.

It was a head.

The head of one of the soldiers that had set out with Faramir and Boromir.

And judging from the shouts and screams and clangs from not too far off, it wasn't the only head that had just been thrown into the city.

"Oh- Oh-"

This was horrible. Nauseating. Terrifying.

And though he was urgent to reach the courtyard, Gandalf stopped for a moment and marveled at the cruelty, keeping a tight grip on the boy's shoulders and keeping his gaze turned away.

"We must go. Now."

_BOOM!_

It seemed that decapitated heads weren't all the Orcs planned on throwing at them. As Gandalf had started to lead Edmund away, the ground shook, and they looked up to witness a gigantic boulder crashing into a platform or tower of sorts (Edmund couldn't tell from where he stood), causing it to crumble and fall away instantaneously.

Screams started to erupt from afar. "Hurry, now! We must not be caught in the crowds of fleeing civilians!" Gandalf urged him on, and they charged up the streets to the Citadel, every so often hearing another massive crash from above.

Just as they reached the yard, they heard a cry from a very unpleasantly familiar voice:

"_ABANDON YOUR POSTS! FLEE! FLEE FOR YOUR LIVES!_"

Denethor was howling to the men below.

Edmund was stunned. He knew Denethor was probably the maddest person he'd ever had the misfortune of meeting, but he hadn't thought the man to be a blatant coward. Wasn't he supposed to be their leader? Instead he was instructing them to panic!

Gandalf seemed to finally have had enough. He strode up to Denethor with a confident stride, raised his staff and smartly whacked the Steward across the head. Denethor didn't go down then, though, but with one blow to the stomach that knocked him over, Gandalf delivered a final blow to the back of the old man's head, bringing him down.

Edmund, in spite of his terror, was wondering if he'd ever seen anything funnier than that in his admittedly short life.

The soldiers who'd seen the spectacle gaped openly. Boromir and Faramir had been placed by the White Tree, still on their litters, and Pippin had watched the show from their side. When he rejoined Edmund a second later, he looked torn between gaping and laughing. Gandalf, however, did not share their humor.

"Prepare for battle!"


	58. Army of the Dead

To Susan's mild relief, there had been a few torches lining the walls deeper into the path. Aragorn ripped one off the wall and held it before him as they moved. And they moved quickly- So quickly that Susan had bumped into Legolas once and Gimli twice. It didn't help that they were all jumpy and nervous in the mountain, though there had been no other ghostly moans or wind.

Aragorn stopped, nearly causing another crash involving all three of his friends. He held the torch higher; two paths were ahead of them. The one Aragorn was examining was teeming with human skulls and various other bones, piled in a thick layer and covered in mold and dirt and decay.

"What is it? What's there?" Gimli asked as Aragorn pulled away and started to examine the other path.

"More skulls. Just how many people died here?" Susan directed the question to Legolas (Again: The elf was their encyclopedia to the world).

"Thousands." He stared at the skulls intently. "Do you see it? Shapes of men and horses. Pale banners like shreds of cloud. Spears rise like winter thickets in a shroud of mist. The dead are following. They have been summoned."

"I take it these are things only an elf can see?" Susan asked, gripping her bow and the arrow she had nocked in it tightly.

"The dead? Summoned?" Gimli heard the panic in his voice and backtracked as Legolas and Susan moved past him. "I-I knew that." He chuckled. "Very good, very go- _Legolas! Susan!_" He charged down the tunnel after the archers.

"Who's summoned them?" Susan said, looking over her shoulder and half expecting to see shadowy wraiths following them (But no, only one very agitated dwarf).

"Their leader. The one who led them all to betray their oath to Isildur." Legolas said. "The King of the Dead."

* * *

Up ahead, Susan began to get a better grasp on the concept of the ghosts they were dealing with. A section of the path was covered in a thick, smooth fog that twisted like smoke around the Fellowship members.

It was only after one such tendril passed right over her arm that Susan realized that they weren't just shapeless gusts of mist: They were hands. And they were pulling at her and the others, though they barely felt anything. Gimli was comically huffing and puffing and waving at the hands to keep them away, though it had little effect. When one hand was knocked away, four more arrived to take its place.

The hands seemed to be particularly drawn to Aragorn, but he ignored them, trying to focus on the path ahead. He looked at the ground, and Susan then realized that with the fog as thick as it was, they were that more likely to trip or fall down some sort of hole, and prayed that these ghosts didn't have that sort of humor in them.

_Crunch_.

Susan froze and looked down. She'd stepped on something, something brittle and hard, but could not see it through the mist. Aragorn looked down as well- He had crunched something too. Legolas, who seemed to be lighter than air, made no noise whatsoever, though Susan was certain that there must be a great deal of whatever they'd stepped on lying around.

Aragorn's head suddenly shot back up. Apparently, the mist wasn't so thick where he stood. There was a grim look on his face.

"Do not look down." He said.

And then it occurred to Susan, and she marveled at how she hadn't realized it before: They were stepping on skulls. Skeletons. _They've practically decorated the cave with them at every turn. I should have known._

Gimli, however, must not have found the answer quite so obvious. When he looked down, and then back up, he squeezed his eyes shut and stepped very slowly, as though worried that to trod upon the remains would result in anger from their spirits.

When they were free of the path of skulls, they found themselves in a large cavern, where on one side there was, what appeared to be, the entrance of a fortress made of stone. Susan was reminded at once of the pictures she had always gotten into her head when her father had told her stories as a child: The lairs of the villains were always tall, dark and haunting, just like this one.

Only this time, the danger was real, as opposed to the imagination of a child who thinks that monsters still linger under the bed.

In the middle of the cavern floor was a large, gaping hole with no bottom. From it rose a swirling green fog that glowed brightly, framed by the blackness of the hole.

Then, just when Susan thought Aragorn was about to lead them into the castle, there hissed a cold, sneering voice that echoed through the grotto and chilled her to the bone:

_"Who enters my domain?" _

They turned to the stairway that led up and into the fortress, and before their very eyes, a figure materialized from the surrounding fog. His hair was long and white, but his beard had remnants of either red or very-light brown, the colors usually found with the people of Rohan. A large, bulky crown sat on his head.

His face was sunken and wrinkled, paper-thin skin imposed over a skeleton, and his eyes were two ivory orbs in his sockets, milky and pale. Over his shoulders he wore a wine-red robe trimmed with purple; his torso was difficult to make out from where Susan stood, and she sincerely hoped that she was staring at the design of his shirt rather than his ribcage.

The King of the Dead glowed with a pale green light, and wisps of fog seemed to seep from his shoulders. He was frightening. And those Susan tensed and kept her bow at the ready to aim and fire, she felt like shaking. It was now that she truly appreciated the madness in going to find an army of ghosts: If they didn't like you, there was really nothing you could do to stop them from killing you.

Aragorn, however, stood without fear or hesitation.

"One who would have your allegiance." He said, gray eyes boring challengingly into the king's.

But the ancient king chuckled darkly, and grinned a grin with no lips and all teeth. "The Dead do not suffer the living to pass." But Aragorn would have none of this. They were gambling on the victory of Rohan and Gondor over Mordor: If they failed, there would be no recovery. Even if the Ring were destroyed, the casualties could not be compensated.

"You _will _suffer me." The Ranger said. But the King of the Dead just cackled, unmoving, and from behind them, the four heard a crackling sound.

Upon turning, they saw what Legolas had described earlier: Pale banners with allusions to red and gold hung from the ceiling of the cave, and wraiths carrying swords, spears and shields, armored for battle marched out from the walls.

"Bow down," Legolas whispered to Susan, sensing that she might be nervous enough to let off an arrow and not wanting her to provoke the spirits. "We needn't make them angry."

"Angrier." Gimli croaked.

"The way is shut! It was made by those who are dead, and the Dead keep it." As the King of the Dead spoke, more ghosts strode through the walls, effectively surrounding the Fellowship members. There had to be over one hundred.

"The way is shut." The king repeated, smiling horribly and approaching the four, all of whom pressed together. Legolas, Susan and Gimli all shot their looks to Aragorn; he had brought them there. He had to have a plan for this.

"_Now you must die._"

Legolas reacted faster than Susan, and he'd only had his bow out to begin with. But the arrow he set loose, confirming Susan's dreadful theory, flew clean through the King of the Dead's head, and they heard it bury itself into the grotto's wall.

Aragorn made no move to attack, though, approaching the king as he and his army started to press in. He held his sword by his side and just gazed. "I summon you to fulfill your oath." Aragorn said.

The King of the Dead sneered. "None but the king of Gondor may command me, fool!" He snarled, breaking away from his place at the head of his troops and bringing his sword up to kill Isildur's Heir.

But Aragorn blocked the sword with his own and knocked the king's away, now leading Susan to believe that maybe only he could defend them from the ghosts. The King of the Dead was in disbelief.

"That line was broken!" He snapped hoarsely.

"It has been remade." Aragorn said shortly, reaching out and grasping the king's neck with his left hand and pressing his sword to it with his right. He held for but a moment, so the king could see the sword, before shoving him back.

Now the ghosts were still and silent and- Confused? Yes. After three thousand years, the king had come to summon them, and they had witnessed said king repel their own. What were they to do? Obey? Or leave the Ranger to rot?

"Fight for us." Aragorn said loudly, clearly.

The ghosts had not moved since their king had charged, but they were close enough now (Too close) so that Susan could make out specific details. They were all helmeted and armed, and all were less defined than their king. She could clearly see through most of them, while the King of the Dead was opaque. Some of their faces resembled their king's, while others were all bone and no skin.

"What say you?" Aragorn said, striding amongst their numbers with the true air of a ruler. He held his sword up for them to see. "What say you?"

"You waste your time, Aragorn." Gimli snapped, forgetting his fears after observing the now silent and submissive dead. "They had no honor in life, and they have none in death."

Susan took in a deep breath. Gimli, like her, Aragorn and Legolas, was surrounded tightly by ghosts, and she thought that maybe the remark would anger them, but they didn't even glance at him.  
All were looking at Aragorn, who tried further to convince them. "I am Isildur's Heir. Fight for me, and I will hold your oaths fulfilled. What say you?"

The King of the Dead stared at Aragorn…

And then laughed.

He laughed, and it echoed through the cavern as the dead receded into the walls. Aragorn had watched them come with little more than a cold stare, but now he watched them leave with fear in his eyes. "You have my word!" He called. "Fight, and I will release you from this living death!"

"What do they have to lose?" Susan asked, breathing for the first time in what seemed like many minutes. "Or do they want to be stuck here forever? It's not like they can be killed!"

"TRAITORS, THE LOT OF YOU!" Gimli bellowed. "STAND AND FIGHT!"

A gust of wind flew through the cave, and with it came a shudder in the ground and dust and stone falling from the ceiling, along with several yellowed skulls.

"Are they attacking us?" Susan cried, looking around for the wraiths.

But no- it was not an attack.

At that moment, the cavern walls framing the fortress crumbled and fell away, and through the gaping holes came an avalanche of skulls that came crashing down towards them. Aragorn yelled something, but Susan lost it over the roar of the bone on bone.

They ran, then, trying to get around to the other side of the cavern around the hole in the middle without being pushed over by the thousands of skulls falling through the holes in the walls.

The Fellowship members were literally swimming through skulls, trying not to get carried away and consequently hurled into the pit. Susan could barely keep her footing, and for one terrified second, she could feel nothing beneath her feet, and was certain that she would be thrown to her death when Legolas seized her by the arm and dragged her along.

"Thank you!" She gasped, pale, as they found their footing on the path again. Skulls flew down over their heads now, and now they need only have worried about avoiding a blow to the head. The path collapsed behind them, the rock falling from the walls and blocking the way.

And at the end of the narrow tunnel?  
Sunlight!

Blinding, beautiful sunlight!

They came out onto a steep embankment near a river, the smoke and fog from the cave pouring out after them. But then, on the river…

"_No_."  
Ships. Some thirteen or fourteen sailing down the river.

And they didn't look friendly.

On either side of the river, two settlements were burning, and Susan sensed that the ships had played some part in that.  
Aragorn fell to his knees. All of the confidence he'd had in the cave had left him, and now he was defeated. "What are they?" Susan asked as Legolas put a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Corsairs. Pirates. They will aid Mordor in the coming battle." The elf was grim. "The soldiers will be overwhelmed as it is. This will damn them to defeat."

Susan choked on her breath. _Peter… Edmund…_

But then- _then_- there came a noise.

It sounded not unlike the one they'd heard right before entering the Paths: A ghostly moan mixed with a gust of wind.  
Aragorn stood and turned, wide-eyed as the King of the Dead strode through the wall and came face-to-face with him.

"We fight."


	59. Chaos in the City

I know, I know, it's short- I really don't know how it turned out that way.

Okay: Here's is my typical apology for having not updated in months. I am, once again, really sorry for not doing so. I have gotten involved in other fandoms (OHMGEE REPO THE GENETIC OPERA COMPLETES MY **_SOUL_**!), and frankly? It's summer. I have been doing more writing recently, but a lot of the rest of my time has been dedicated to getting my driver's license and dealing with college stuff.

Another point is just, honestly: My heart has not been into it. When I get on my Lord of the Rings/Chronicles of Narnia kicks, I sit down, I watch Lord of the Rings, scene by scene, and reference the books a lot. As much as I _adore_ both book series/movies, it is really, really, _really_ tedious work. If you've ever tried to write a story like this, you may understand why. It's especially hard to get back my interest in them considering that I've seen all the Lord of the Rings and Chronicles of Narnia movies _and_ read the books dozens of times.

I'm going to be totally honest: Do not expect any big or consistent updates until 'Voyage of the Dawn Treader' comes out. That'll be when inspiration hits me like a ton of bricks.

ALSO: You may have noticed that all of the line breaks in my previous chapters are gone.

Once again, I say: Blame. The. Website.

Everything I write looks just PEACHY until I upload it here.

* * *

While Gandalf charged amongst the city on Shadowfax to re-organize the men, Pippin and Edmund attended to Boromir and Faramir.

"They're alive, far as I can tell," Pippin told Edmund. "But they need help. They need to get to the infirmary."

"We'll take them, then." A few soldiers stepped forward, having recovered from the shock of watching the Great and Wise Gandalf beat their Steward over the head with his staff (Edmund swore that if they left this city alive, he'd be telling that one to his grandchildren).

Then he remembered, and his stomach roiled with nausea. "Pip, Pippin, did you hear? Did you see what they were throwing before the rocks?" Pippin blinked.

"No, what?"

"The others. All the others that were with Boromir and Faramir. The Orcs, they… Threw us their heads." Pippin recoiled, and he may have been on the edge of accusing Edmund of a cruel joke or lie, but knew that even Edmund wouldn't go that far for a joke. Not now.

"Our friends are safe, Edmund. We have to help. We have to do something. Anything. Anything we-"

_SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!_

Edmund and Pippin and most every soldier who heard the screech slapped their hands over their ears. Directly above them, shooting down like a hawk coming in for the kill, were the Nazgul on their Fellbeasts. Edmund was jerked, much like before, back to the first time he'd heard that shriek, under the tree in the forest while he clutched onto his big sister and hoped that Peter and Lucy weren't getting killed.

All nine of the Black Riders were descending from the sky, swooping down to different parts of the city. All at once, Edmund found his voice.

"_Get off the courtyard! They'll pick us off up here!_" He screamed at the soldiers before seizing Pippin by the arm and pulling him towards the stairs.

"Where are we going?" The Hobbit called.

"To Gandalf! He'll tell us what we can do!"

* * *

The search for Gandalf was both heart-pounding, terrifying and beyond dangerous. Between the Nazgul and the rocks, they were at risk of being carried off and eaten, carried off and dropped, smashed by a stone or smashed by the debris that came from a stone striking some place above them.

The Nazgul were sweeping the bigger streets, bridges and towers, picking off soldiers and the city's catapults. There was one incident- One hair-raising, heart-stopping instance- in which Pippin just barely managed to yank Edmund back before the boy could be bowled over or possibly carried off by one of the Fellbeasts.

And when it wasn't the enemy, it was the civilians. Nowhere in Minas Tirith was completely safe: To be in the streets meant risking the Nazgul, but to stay in home ran the risk of it collapsing or being struck by a boulder. Edmund lost count after some six times he and Pippin had be knocked over by a terrified person fleeing.

Now that they were closer, Edmund realized what the big, dark rectangles approaching in the ranks of Orcs were: Towers. Ladders within them allowed Orcs on the ground to climb to the top of said towers, which then opened on top of the walls, thereby allowing the Orcs to enter the city and fight the soldiers directly.

"The walls will be crawling with Orcs soon! Get ready!" Both Edmund and Pippin had, at Gandalf's orders, equipped their swords earlier should a fight arise. Edmund also had the vial of healing liquid tucked in his belt, the shield that Galadriel had given him strapped to his back, and now he pulled it off his back, slipped it snugly onto his arm, and prayed that the elves could make a damn good shield!

They reached the walls just as the towers were opening, and they braced themselves. Just ahead, a figure in white amongst the black and silver of the army was shouting commands.

"Fight them back! _Fight them back!_" Gandalf turned to see Edmund and Pippin approaching. "Go back, you two! Go back!"

"But we have to fight!" Pippin protested.

At that moment three Orcs, fresh from the towers, came charging at them, rusty, rough and blood-stained swords held high.

Edmund brought up his shield and tensed, rapidly recalling what Aragorn and Boromir had taught him, and that he was indeed capable of fighting. He'd done it before: Twice. Moria and Isengard. He could do this.  
But Pippin- and Edmund didn't realize it until Gandalf jumped in- he froze up. The chaos and the screaming and the fear took over, and he couldn't move.

Edmund managed to take down one of the Orcs, though momentarily leaving his stomach wide open for attack, something Boromir would have mercilessly berated him for. Gandalf made quick work of the other two, and turned back to the boy and Hobbit, breathless.

"This is no place for a boy and Hobbit! " He turned back to fend off another four Orcs, and Edmund could truly appreciate just how skilled Gandalf was, moving with obscene grace as he used his staff in one hand and his sword in the other.

Edmund could have taken some of the Orcs, but he was worried of getting in Gandalf's way, which would either result in the wizard getting hurt, or Edmund getting a nice, big goose-egg on the head.

Pippin seemed to snap back to reality in these moments, watching the old wizard fight, and when an Orc managed to slip past Gandalf and charge at them, the Hobbit drew his sword and rammed it into the monster's stomach with a shrill cry. Gandalf was impressed, but only briefly.

"Back up the hill with you both- Now!"

But as they headed back towards the Citadel, debating amongst themselves what they could do to help, something drew their attention.  
When the Orcs had been approaching the White City, they had been chanting. When they'd started the assault, there were mostly garbled shouts from below. But now they seemed to have struck up a rhythm again.

"What are they saying?" Pippin called over the din of clashing metal and dying screams. In spite of the danger of being out in the open, Pippin moved to a section of a bridge that hadn't been hit yet, and gave just enough of a look out past the city walls.

"I don't know! I think…" His eyes widened. "What… In the…?"

Pippin ran out to join him, and his eyes widened as well.  
Standing even taller than the towers used to breach the wall was some sort of giant wooden cradle… And suspended _in_ that cradle was a giant, ugly _thing_ that seemed to be filled with fire.

One time, when Susan had been doing her Latin homework, Edmund had happened to glance at one of the pages in her textbook. "What in the _hell_ is that?" He'd asked, staring strangely at the picture on the page.

After rebuking him for his language, Susan explained that the Romans had the habit of making one type of food look like another: For instance, shaping a cake into the shape of a cooked pig, such as the picture had depicted.

_That_ was what this thing looked like.

A big, roasted boar with fire in its mouth. It was a vicious looking specimen, with sharp, lengthy teeth and five-pronged paws.

The Took and Pevensie stared with awe and horror.

"And what, exactly, are they going to do with _that_…?" Pippin whispered.

* * *

OKAY, THAT'S IT, I'M SERIOUSLY LOSING MY TEMPER HERE.

It started with the punctuation. Whenever I upload a chapter, the punctuation is gone on Document Manager and I have to copy and paste the original document onto the Document Manager version so I don't have to waste my time putting it all in again. THEN it started telling me that I couldn't use single dashes for line-breaks anymore.

NOW it's telling me I can't mush words together (on purpose, for comedic effect) or write 'eeeyagh!' out (all caps, and much longer than what I just quoted there or it wouldn't show up), which was what I ORIGINALLY used to describe the Nazgul's screech.

Is anyone else having these problems, or does Fanfiction DOT net (ANOTHER THING I CAN'T WRITE ANYMORE) just hate my soul?


	60. The Corsairs

WHOO. I'M BACK. AGAIN.

ANYWAY, I was getting ready to launch back into my Harry Potter obsession in preparation for the movie, and I ended up diving head-first back into Narnia/Middle Earth once more. Hoo-rah.

SO GUESS WHAT I DID ON THURSDAY MORNING? In the two hour time-slot I have between arriving at my college and the beginning of my Education class, I went to the computer lab, did some work on my case study on childhood onset schizophrenia, and... Oh! Right! I went back and edited ALL FIFTY-EIGHT OF THE CHAPTERS IN THIS STORY SO THEY HAD LINE BREAKS AGAIN. OH MY ACHING HEAD.

But, yeah, so now all of the other chapters have line breaks in the appropriate places again. I'm happy. And now I'm updating. I UPDATE LOTS FOR YOU NOW! :D

* * *

The ships flew gray-black sails that almost looked like the leathery wings of fairy-tale dragons, and the ships themselves were black as night. They were relatively small- Not like the ships Susan was used to back home, or even the ones she'd seen in history books- but they were filled with men in black armor, many of whom had tattoos covering their bodies.

Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas and Susan (In that order) stood on a thin, gravelly shore, a place that at least one of the ships would come dangerously close to. When they were in earshot, Aragorn called out to them.

"You may go no further!" He said. "You will not enter Gondor."

The boson of the nearest ship stood from his seat on deck. He was covered in dirt and grime and sweat, with long black hair and a bare wisp of a beard. He did not look amused, and moved to the edge of the boat even as his crew howled with laughter at the Ranger's seemingly ridiculous command.

"Who are you to deny us passage?" The boson snarled, eyes narrowed. Aragorn did not answer him, but rather turned towards Legolas slightly.

"Legolas, fire a warning shot past the boson's ear." He muttered. Legolas swiftly pulled out an arrow and strung it, taking aim. Gimli sniffed.

"Mind your aim," He whispered. Susan saw what he was about to do right before he did it, but had no chance to articulate something that would stop him. With the butt of his axe, Gimli gave Legolas' bow a little tap, thereby redirecting Legolas' aim. Mind you, Legolas was an elf, and therefore had superb aim, and so tapping the end of the bow even slightly…

Before Legolas could catch the adjustment and stop himself, the arrow flew, and with a grunt from a member of the crew, they realized that the arrow had struck him. "Oh, _Gimli!_" Susan hissed, glaring furiously at the dwarf. He winced, not only from Susan's glare, but Legolas' as well (This was, quite possibly, the first time he'd ever missed a mark- that means something to an elf).

Aragorn didn't look particularly upset. He merely rolled his eyes at the dwarf, who now stuttered and tried to cover for his mistake. "Th-That's it! We warned you! Prepare to be boarded!"

Though they'd just lost a crew member, the rest of the Corsairs howled with laughter.

"Boarded?" The boson laughed. "By you and whose army?"

Susan took in a deep breath. "Interesting choice of words." She mumbled. Aragorn nodded.

"_This_ army."

And with a surprisingly human battle-cry, the King of the Dead and his army charged clean through the wall behind them, through the Fellowship members, and across the water to the ships.

The Corsairs suddenly didn't look so amused anymore.

As the dying screams of the crews from all the ships filled the air, Aragorn nodded grimly.

"Prepare to board the ships." He looked to Susan. "We go to aid your brothers."

* * *

And that aid would be welcome.

Peter was but a few feet from King Théoden, feeding his horse when Eomer came riding up. His expression spoke of trouble. "The scouts report that Minas Tirith is surrounded by the enemy. The lower level is consumed by flames."

Peter froze from where he'd been patting his horse's neck, and sent up a sincere prayer that Edmund and Pippin were on a completely different level.

"Time is against us!" Théoden said, looking worried. "Make ready!" He called to the camp, and the soldiers immediately began to scramble together. Peter jogged over to where Merry was sitting against a log, speaking, with Dernhelm, whose helmet was now off.

"Merry, are-" Peter had glanced sideways at Dernhelm and did a sudden double-take, an odd look crossing his face. "Éowyn?" He said, voice sounding strange. Éowyn glared at him and shushed him.

"My uncle will hear! Merry he will suffer this far into the journey, but he will have no qualms with making me ride back to Edoras with an escort!" She hissed, quickly replacing her helm and walking off to her horse.

Merry stared up at Peter. "You _really_ didn't recognize her?"

"Oh, shut up!" Peter snapped. "She was very convincing." Merry's head tipped back as he expressed his mirth.

"No she wasn't!" He howled. "Not when she speaks to you! Not when you've seen her- What- Forty times in the past two months?" Peter glared viciously at the Hobbit and went back to his own horse, grumbling irritably and vowing to strangle Merry if he repeated this story to anyone else when all was said and done.


	61. Denethor's Madness

Sometime when the night began to come, the Orcs deemed it appropriate to make sure that the Gondorians could see death hurling at them at blinding speeds, so they no longer threw just rocks- No, they loaded _flaming_ rocks into the catapults and let them loose into the city. So now one not only needed to fear being crushed, but burned as well.

The lowest level of the city had fires everywhere, and though Edmund and Pippin wanted to help (As the lower levels were where all the action was happening), they were also happy to keep clear.

They had discovered earlier, also, that the Orcs were chanting 'Grond', and boy and Hobbit deduced that 'Grond' was the name of the giant pig thing, whose purpose they had also discovered. Grond was a battering ram- A stylized battering ram, but a battering ram none the less.

From what they could tell from the citadel courtyard, Grond had not succeeded in breaking down the doors, but with enough abuse, he would probably succeed sometime before morning.

"Maybe we should check on Boromir and Faramir." Pippin whispered. Gandalf had ordered them to the courtyard, and they had followed his instructions. Without the ability to fight, watching the fighting below was little more than mental torture.

"Yeah." In spite of his answer, Edmund lingered at the wall for another minute or so, watching the dots of light in the streets below (Soldiers with torches). "Do you know where they are?"

"I think so." Pippin had to tug on Edmund's arm to snap the ten year-old out of his daze, and together they slid into the citadel in search of the House of Healing. The citadel was widely abandoned, save for a few servants and the stray guard or two. They paid no mind to the two small figures roaming the halls, more concerned with the unsettling noises outside.

After asking directions from a young guard who looked as though he'd rather be anywhere else on the continent at that moment, they found themselves in a long, airy, cool hall lined with beds.

None of the beds were occupied.

...Currently.

Technically.

Faramir was at the farthest bed down, on the right hand side. He was on his feet- a task that seemed too much for him at the moment- was trying desperately to move without collapsing from either weakness or pain. He was deathly pale.

"Faramir!" Edmund and Pippin rushed down the way to the younger son of Denethor. "Are you mad? Lie down! You look like death!" Pippin cried, taking Faramir's arm and trying to push him back into bed.

"No!" Faramir gasped. "Father… He… Boromir…" Edmund turned to observe the led on the left, directly across from Faramir's. It was empty, but the sheets were askew, implying that someone had lain there not so long ago.

"Where is Boromir?" Edmund felt his stomach drop. "Did Denethor do something?" Faramir nodded weakly, and Pippin, also feeling dread wash over him, released the man's arm.

"What's happened?" The Hobbit asked. Faramir took a slow, deep breath.

"Boromir… He's alive. But F-Father… He thinks… He thinks he's d-dead." He croaked, leaning on the bed for a moment. Pippin nodded slowly, uncomprehending.

"He thought you were both dead when they brought you up." He said.

"What's he doing?" Edmund couldn't banish the idea that Denethor was about to do something really, really horrible to his older son. "Where's he taken him?"

"T-To the… Tomb of Kings… He means to… To burn Boromir and himself!" Edmund and Pippin gaped for a moment while Faramir panted.

Edmund snapped back first. "Pippin, get Gandalf! Now!" He snapped. Pippin nodded and sprinted down the way and into the halls to locate Gandalf. Edmund then turned to Faramir. "How long ago did he take Boromir?"

"F-Five minutes… At least. It was a s-slow procession. They may only b-b-be halfway there." Edmund nodded and slung Faramir's good arm around his shoulder.

"Let's go then. You might be able to convince him." Edmund said it merely for reassurance purposes; Most likely Denethor would not be convinced even if Boromir sat up and started talking.

"Why couldn't Gandalf have hit him harder?"

* * *

It took maybe ten minutes to hobble out to the courtyard, Faramir gritting his teeth and working past his pain, all in the knowledge that his brother would be burned alive if he didn't hurry. When they reached the out of doors, Edmund halted.

"Which way?"

Faramir jerked his head to their right. The sky was starting to brighten; the clouds from Mordor dimmed the light, but they could at least surmise that the sun was starting to rise. "Across that… Bridge." Edmund nodded, briefly apologizing when the motion irritated one of Faramir's wounds.

"Pippin, hurry up!" He hissed under his breath, seeing no signs of Gandalf or Pippin on the bridge. When they were halfway across, Faramir tried his luck.

"Father!" He called, forcing his voice out as loudly as he could. There was no response, but that meant nothing. "Father, stop this! Boromir is alive!"

And from the long hall that led to the center of the tomb (Edmund could vaguely see the embalmed bodies of dead kings lining the wall ahead of them), Denethor strode down, a cold look in his manic eyes.

"Leave me, boy." Denethor hissed. Edmund couldn't tell if Denethor was addressing him or Faramir.

"Why are you doing this?" Faramir cried, trying to dissuade his father from his grisly task. "You must see that he takes breath! You must feel that his body is still warm! Why do you continue?"

Denethor glared at him.

"You disappoint me."  
And with that, before Edmund and Faramir could stop him, the Steward slammed the doors to the tomb shut, blocking them out. "No!"

Edmund, releasing the younger of the two brothers to lean on the wall of the bridge, went up to the door and pounded on it. "Denethor! You bloody lunatic! _He's not dead!_" He hollered.

Screaming that Denethor was a lunatic probably wasn't the wisest of gestures, but if the Steward felt like opening the doors again and reprimanding Edmund for his cheek, he could live with that. It gave Gandalf and Pippin that much more time to get up there and stop him!

But then, suddenly, the strangest noise echoed through the city.

"A horn?" Edmund said, brow furrowed as he pulled away from the door and looked out to the Fields. Faramir was breathless… But then he smiled.

"Rohan."

* * *

The whole "Switching-Faramir-Out-With-Boromir" actually struck me right as I was starting this chapter up. It just hit me, then I thought about it and realized…

"Yeah. That could work."

On that note: Wouldn't I just be the worst sort of person if I killed Boromir off now? ):D


	62. Rohan to the Rescue

The rising sun behind the Rohan army illuminated the city and Orc army ahead in the fields.

The line was easily hundreds of men across, and even more in the lines that followed after. Peter was right up front, next to Éowyn and Merry. Minas Tirith, he saw, was a beautiful city at first glance- But when he caught sight of the damage that had been done, he swallowed a lump in his throat.

_Ed's in there somewhere. _He thought. _Pippin, Gandalf and Boromir, too._

Before them, covering the Pelennor Fields in a dark blanket and surrounding the city just as Eomer had described, had to be thousands of Orcs, trolls and wargs. Gigantic winged dragon-beasts circled the air above. Rohan's army was easily outnumbered.

But that wouldn't stop them. _Couldn't_ stop them.

Not now.

"Lot of them, aren't there?" Peter whispered, choking on the unease in his voice.

"Loads." Merry agreed, also sounding less than ready.

"Courage, boys." Éowyn whispered back. "Courage for our friends. Our families." Peter gulped softly.  
Right. For Edmund, trapped in the city. For Susan, wherever Aragorn had led her off to. And for Lucy- Because every Orc they killed would be one less standing in her way. One less threat to her life.

Théoden, on his white steed Snowmane, charged down the front of the line. "Eomer! Take your éored down the left flank! Gamling! Follow the king's banner down the center! Grimbold! Take your company right after you pass the wall! Forth, and fear no darkness!"

Now the king turned to his soldiers, spinning Snowmane about as he addressed them. He came dangerously close to Peter, Merry and Éowyn, who hid her face behind Merry's helmet. If the king saw Merry, he gave no indication.

"Arise, arise, Riders of Théoden!" The king called. "Spears shall be shaken! Shields shall be splintered! A sword day! A red day! _Ere the sun rises!_"

The riders with spears in the front row lowered them to point forward, towards the Orc army. Likewise, the section of the Orc army that they faced knelt in the grass and raised their pikes in preparation for the charge. Peter, Éowyn and Merry all unsheathed their swords.

"Whatever happens, stay by me," She whispered to them. "I'll look after you." Peter and Merry nodded.

"Ride now!" Théoden commanded, riding back along the line and tapping the raised spears with his sword. "Ride now! Ride! Ride for ruin! For wrath! And the world's ending!" At the end of the line, he turned back and faced their enemies, sword held high. Glancing back to his men, he yelled, "Death!"

"_Death!_" The army roared back.

"Death!"

"_Death!_"

"_DEATH!_"

"**_DEATH!_**" Peter, Merry and Éowyn all joined in on the last chorus. With that, Théoden pointed his sword straight ahead and bellowed,

"_FORTH__ EORLINGAAAAS!_"

With the blow of dozens of horns, the army started forward at a walking pace. But with a wild roar of thousands of voices cheering, the walk dissolved into a trot, and then into a sprint down the slope and onto the flatter plains.

Somewhere in the middle of the charge, when they were halfway to the army, the archers in the Orc ranks let loose a volley of arrows, and men and their horses dropped instantly around them, being trampled by those behind them, screaming with their last breaths. Peter had to fight to keep his eyes open and not cringe away from the fear of being hit by a stray arrow.

He worried for a moment that they would not make it, that the majority of their number would be wiped out before even hitting the Orcs, but that was not so. When the Orcs saw that their arrows had done little to stop the army, they panicked and began to back away. Apparently, they had counted on Rohan withdrawing or hesitating when hit; clearly, they'd never fought against this country before.

The Rohan army crashed into the Orcs, blowing them away before they could even think to defend themselves. Peter didn't even try to hit anything- one, he was worried he might strike Éowyn and Merry, who were still right next to him, and two, he didn't have to; the horses trampled the Orcs after they were knocked back.

This was the case for maybe five minutes. Then, when they reached the inner sections of the army that had had time to snap out of their stupor and prepare themselves, the real sword-work began. The Rohan soldiers stayed mounted on their horses, though some were yanked off.

Peter stabbed at whatever came within range, and twice it was that he nearly impaled a fellow soldier. This wasn't nearly as bad as he thought it might be: The Orcs seemed to be terrified of the riders, perhaps because it was direct contact rather than scaring the sense out of the soldiers behind the walls of Minas Tirith.

Whatever the case, many of the Orcs began to flee towards Mordor, away from the army. "Drive them to the river!" Eomer called.

"Make safe the city!" Théoden was grinning. This had turned out spectacularly; the Orcs were running to save their sorry hides, and the vast majority of his men were alive and well.

They had won!

_Rraaagh!_

_BOOM._

… Or not.

* * *

DAMMIT! I'M SORRY THEY'RE ALL SO SHORT!

I'll try and compensate by posting in bulk.


	63. The Pyre

The sweetest sound Edmund had heard in the last day or so had to be the sound of hooves galloping across the stone walkway of the citadel courtyard.

"Where the _heck_ were you?" Edmund shrieked at Pippin and Gandalf.

"You will never _believe_ what we ran into on the way here!" Pippin called back. Gandalf did not stop to talk. He plowed right past Edmund and Faramir, and Shadowfax reared onto his hind legs and proceeded to kick in the door, startling the two guards that were standing inside.

Straight ahead, Denethor stood atop the pyre, soaked with what must have been oil, with Boromir's body by his feet. There were some three or four guards standing around the pyre, one with a torch in hand. They were all stunned by Gandalf's entrance.

"_Stay this madness!_" He roared. Denethor, he only glared. He then grabbed the torch from the distracted guard.

"You may have triumphed in the field of battle this day," He said, voice low and cold, "But against the power that has risen in the east, there is no victory." And with that, he dropped the torch.

"Father, _no!_" Faramir cried, lunging forward uselessly.

"Boromir!" Edmund cried. Gandalf seized a spear from one of the door guards and urged Shadowfax to charge forward. With this spear, he struck Denethor in the stomach, knocking him off the pile and onto the cold tiled floor. Pippin sprang off of Shadowfax's back and onto the pyre, grabbing Boromir and rolling him off. Once on the floor, he proceeded to beat the flames from his clothing.

The Steward lay on the floor, dazed. Edmund helped Faramir hobble over to him, trying to conveniently ignore that the man was in tears now over nearly losing both his father and older brother. "Father… Father…" Faramir knelt next to Denethor.

Knowing the Steward was safe, Edmund turned back to Pippin and Boromir. "Is he all right?" Pippin nodded, breathless.

"I-I think so."

As if on cue, Boromir twitched slightly. Turned his head and opened his eyes a bit. Denethor regarded his older son with bewilderment and confusion. "Boromir?" He whispered.

Gandalf sighed, relieved that the incident had passed without casualty. He then narrowed his eyes and turned to the guards, all of whom looked ready to pitch themselves off the walls from the insanity that they'd just witnessed.

"I do not care if you must chain him in the dungeons," The wizard hissed "You will keep the Lord Denethor in the citadel until the battle has passed. And for the love of all things sacred, if he asks you for a torch, _refuse!_"

Edmund puffed out a laugh, the type you can only manage when your nerves are frayed beyond repair. Denethor, however, still looked lost, hopeless. All of his coldness from only moments before was gone.

"But we are doomed. We are alone."

"No, we're not!" Edmund insisted, looking the Steward in the eye. "Rohan's just arrived out there! They're fighting with us!"

"Really?" The guards all tensed, looking to Gandalf for confirmation. The White Wizard nodded.

"Yes. Rohan has come to the aid of Gondor. There is yet hope for the world of men. Now go! Take Lord Denethor to his chambers and his sons back to the House of Healing!" He snapped, beckoning for Edmund and Pippin to follow him outside again.

"Thank you," Faramir whispered to them, eyes shining with gratitude. "Thank you so much." Gandalf nodded wearily before leading the boy and Hobbit back to the courtyard, leaving the Steward's family in the care of the guards.

"What loyalty," Edmund muttered, rubbing some ashes from his hair. "'I'll do anything for you, my lord! Even help you burn your son!' _Honestly!_" Pippin chuckled, and Edmund may have seen a smile twitch at Gandalf's lips.

* * *

You see? Scientific principle: Every action will have an equal/opposite reaction.

Boromir didn't die? Neither does Denethor (I considered excluding the pyre scene for this reason, but then decided to lull you all into a false sense of security ;D). Denethor doesn't die… And what happens next?

Think about it.

**_ALSO:_**

For those of you that follow the book: Note the fact that I stuck with the movie and did not have Denethor trying to burn the palantír of Minas Tirith with him.

**Note it.** I'll say no more.


	64. Mordor's Reinforcements

Every soldier on that field not preoccupied with relieving an Orc of its head fell silent and still.

To the east, framed by the black mountains of Mordor (Peter shivered; they were every bit as wicked as Boromir had described at the council), gigantic figures could be seen marching through the smoke. It was to them that the Orcs were fleeing, dashing behind the safety of their lines.

"What… Are those?" Peter whispered to Eomer, who's eyes were wide. The air was filled with chanting, and horns blew. Peter squinted at the massive figures. They looked oddly like… Elephants?

"Mumakil," Eomer whispered. "Eru's blood, I never thought that I would live to see one. They come from the far South. Those are the Haradrim that ride on their backs. They have long had quarrels with Gondor."

"Re-form the line! _Re-form the line!_" Théoden screamed. The men were deeply shaken, their previous enthusiasm quelled by the sight of the massive mumakil monsters. But at their king's command, they quickly formed another line facing the on-coming Haradrim and the fleeing Orcs. "Sound the charge! Take them head-on!"

Gamling brought a smooth, polished horn to his lips and blew. Théoden raised his sword. "_CHAAAARGE!_"

The riders charged forward, spears and swords held high, running directly at the mumakil just as they had the Orcs.

This time, however, things didn't go as swimmingly.

The mumakil were not Orcs afraid of the men on horses. They were big- Bigger than _dinosaurs, _never mind elephants, and not frightened in the least of being hit or killed. They knew they were big. And they knew how to use it. And if even they didn't, the men on their backs did.

Somewhere in the charge, Peter lost track of Éowyn and Merry, and instead stuck by Eomer. Though he couldn't have been excited at the prospect of fighting creatures over twenty times his height, the man was taking it in stride. He performed a particularly daring move, standing directly in front of one mumakil while still on his horse and hurling a spear at the driver.

The Harad man was struck in the chest, and he went down. As he did- by the purest streak of luck Peter had seen so far- the rope that was hooked into the mumakil's ear was dragged down with him. The giant beast roared with pain, and was inadvertently tugged to the left, led by the force on its ear. It stumbled to its left, eventually crashing into one other mumakil and sending them both crashing to the ground.

"_Nice!_" Peter called. Eomer grinned and moved on.

Other mumakil were being brought down by daring riders that slashed at their legs; a dangerous position to be in, seeing as how the legs of the mumakil were nearly as thick as Orthanc's tower had been.

Somewhere, distantly, Peter could hear Théoden screaming at the riders to bring the mumakil down. There wasn't much Peter could do; he'd already learned through trial and error that he still didn't have the skill to attack someone while charging on a horse, and he didn't have any long-range weapons.

It was then, by complete chance, that he caught sight of Éowyn and Merry as they fell from their horse while trying to avoid being crushed by a falling mumakil. Peter, though feeling safer on his horse, leapt of and charged over to Éowyn, thankful that the mumakil that had just fallen was the last in the area.

"_Merry!_" Éowyn cried.

"Éowyn! Are you all right?" Peter yelled over the stomping of the mumakil and the shouts of the riders.

"I lost Merry!" She screamed back. "I-" The Shieldmaiden froze, her eyes widening, before she pushed past Peter and ran. Peter spluttered, trying to call her back, when he saw that she had rushed off to defend her uncle, who was taking on some two Orcs while another crept up behind him.

"Merry!" Peter called. "Merry! Where are you?"

Sharp coughing made him turn to the fallen mumakil, where, to his great relief, Merry was crawling. The teenager ran to the Hobbit, grabbing his arm and pulling him to his feet.

"Are you all right?" He asked. Merry started to nod, but then-

"DUCK!"

Without question, without hesitation, Peter ducked. Merry thrust his sword past the boy and buried it into the groin of one of the Haradrim soldiers that had fallen from the baskets on the mumakil.

"Thanks!"

The next several minutes were spent fending off the Haradrim and Orcs, the latter of whom seemed to regain what little courage they had. There was no time to worry or think, only to act.


	65. The Dark Terror of Cirith Ungol

You may be wondering why this chapter is so late: Not the chapter itself, but the events within it.

Well, here's my explanation: There are very few things in this world that can reduce me to a screaming, crying, terrified mess.

Spiders are one of them.

Particularly, spiders of the large nature, such as tarantulas. Smaller spiders I can handle, as long as they're not touching me. Or are close to me.

And when I say 'close', I mean ten-foot clearance. At least.

Any closer than that and I'd blast that thing with an Uzi.

I'm not kidding.

I've busted flashlights while trying to kill the little suckers.

ANYWAY.  
Since Shelob is about as big as a friggin' tarantula can get, you can imagine my immense joy and excitement at the prospect of having to re-watch the Shelob scene in ROTK. Could I just go off the book? Yes. But it really does help to have a flat-out visual for me to take from. That's the reason why I watch the trilogies rather than go strictly off the books; the visuals from the movie are amazing.

So what you're about to read is the result of what my dad told me as I cowered in the next room. I'll be combining what he told me with the description from the chapter from the book. I managed to peek a bit at the moments when he said she wasn't there, so I have a fair picture in my head of what Shelob's lair looks like.

The reason this scenario is so late is because I skipped the Shelob scenes in ROTK in favor of continuing with the Minas Tirith and Rohan scenes; halfway through the last chapter, I realized, 'Oh crap! Forgot to allot a chapter for the Shelob scene!'

And thus, here we are. Enjoy.

* * *

Lucy and Sam hurried up the cliff as quickly as they could, slipping numerous times in their haste.

"Oh, that rat!" Sam snarled as he stumbled. "I should've guessed there was evidence around here, if none of us ate it!"

"Shame I couldn't have looked harder when Frodo was still here! Then Gollum would have been the one sent away!"

"No, Miss Lucy," Sam grunted. "He wouldn't have. He would've kept him with us, just like he always has!" He let out a frustrated noise. Lucy was constantly having to stop and wait for him; Sam was bigger than Lucy, and less coordinated because of the pack on his back. She could go much faster than he. "Miss Lucy, keep going! Get to Frodo before that rat does something to him!"

"But I-"

"Go on! I'll catch up. If I try to go any faster I'll fall, and that won't do any of us any good!" Lucy nodded, and with barely a moment's hesitation she was scrambling agilely up the cliff, trying not to listen to Sam below and be tempted to wait for him some more. Sam would be fine- Frodo would not.

When she reached the top of the cliff, the land leveled off. A narrow path cut through a small forest of sharp, black stone, leading up the slightest of inclines and suddenly, finally, to the mouth of a tall but constricted tunnel.

From the outside, Lucy could see that the tunnel was not completely pitch black. There was a soft, dim glow, but she couldn't think of where it might be coming from (They hadn't seen sunlight in _weeks_). It was damp, she could tell, and smelled of mildew, rot and a dozen other horrible things she could not (and did not want to) identify.

All manners of nasty creatures had to live in a cave like this. The kind she didn't want to run into at all, never mind all alone. If she had to guess, the air would be tight and awful to smell and taste, awful to breathe. There would be no light, no windows or openings to the sky.

Moria had given Lucy a certain dread of underground places with no outlets. Being trapped underground suffocating, dying so far away from the sun and the sky and all things beautiful was a crippling thought.

But Frodo was in there somewhere.

And if there _were_ nasty things here, they could get to him. And if there was anything that she feared more than her own death away from the world of light, it was his. He'd come so far, done so much, and it was showing. He couldn't go it alone, and Sam and Lucy were certainly not going to let him do so.

Taking one deep, final breath of the comparatively fresh air outside, Lucy plunged off down the path, moving quickly.

Unfortunately, her pace was quickly slowed down; She found the floor of the path to be covered with a thin, sticky substance that caught her dress and shoes, made them cling to the floor and only allowed them to be freed with a sharp tug. The path became particularly tapered, uneven and dark at one point, and Lucy put her hand on the wall to steady herself. The walls were covered in the sticky substance as well.

Eventually, the path led to a crossroads of maybe four or five different routes. This little cavern that housed the crossroads was quite roomier now, and most of the new paths were very, very big. No more trouble with space, it would seem.

However, there was something that was a bit alarming.

The tunnels were not so dark here, and now she was able to see the color of the substance that coated the floor and walls. It was white and webby, and reminded her horribly of a spider's silk.

And there was a _lot_ of it.

The last thing Lucy wanted, or needed, was to run into a colony of millions of little spiders that would crawl all over her and bite and click and-

She shuddered.

Lucy tried to put this out of mind and bit her lip, considering her options. She was trying to follows Frodo, but upon inspection of the mouths of each tunnel, she saw no indication whatsoever as to which path he'd taken.

If she went the wrong way, she could end up traveling along the mountain rather than through it. And there was no telling which ways the paths would twist and turn. She was already uncertain of which direction, exactly, the opening of the path was.

Suddenly, a noise.

Soft and slight, movement of some sort that sounded like maybe feet shuffling on the ground; a difficult feat given that the webs provided a level of cushioning that prevented a lot of noise.

Lucy reached for her dagger.

Then, a shadow! Movement! To her left!

Lucy lunged, weapon outstretched, tackled the figure to the ground and-

It was Gollum.

"_You!_" Lucy had Gollum pinned in an instant, with her dagger to his throat. Looking back on this moment later on, she would come to realize that she really might have killed him if she'd been less connected with reality. "Where's Frodo? _Where is he_? I swear, if you've done something to him-!"

"No, girlses, no! We've not harmed him! No, no!" Gollum wailed.

"Don't you pull any more of your tricks with me! Where is he, then?" Lucy was almost shouting now, and this seemed to panic Gollum.

_Good_.

"Sh! Sh! Girlses must be quiet! So very quiet!" He moaned.

"No! I'm done with that! You tell me where-"

Lucy froze.

Somewhere not so far away, she had heard a slight, gasping-grunting noise.

And it sounded like Frodo.

Without giving Gollum a second glance, Lucy sprang away from him and ran off towards the source of the noise.

All while she navigated through the dark tunnels, she wondered, quite vaguely, at the back of her mind about the 'Dark Terror' that Faramir had said lived in the Pass of Cirith Ungol. She had seen nothing of it yet, save for this sticky, white material on the wall, and she had to wonder at what exactly this stuff was.

"Lucy!"

Lucy gasped and jumped. She had nearly crashed headlong into Sam while turning a corner. In their panic, both began talking at once.

"I found this-"

"Gollum was just-"

"This is-"

"And then I heard-"

They both stopped, panting. "I found this! This is… The… Oh, I can't remember and it's not important! It's Galadriel's gift to Frodo!" Sam panted, holding up a beautiful white crystal-like object.

"And I found Gollum!" Lucy grabbed Sam's arm and tugged him towards where she'd heard the screaming noise from. "He wouldn't tell me where Frodo was, but then I heard this noise, and I think it was Frodo!"

"Ow!" Sam hissed. His foot had caught on a rough, upraised part of the ground.

"Sorry."

"I'm fine, I'm fine." While he tried to shake his foot back into working order, Lucy could see a bit of dim light up ahead. She moved forward a bit, poking her head onto the path. To her left, looking up, she was pleasantly surprised to see the opening of the pass that led into Mordor at the end of a high staircase.

She was less than pleasantly surprised to see a tall, dark tower, atop which a fiery, red orb stood, flickering against the black clouds of Mordor. She didn't need to think to hard to guess what that was- She'd heard enough people refer to 'The Eye of Sauron'.

Sauron was right there. Ready and waiting for his Ring.

Lucy took a slow, deep breath. They were so close. They were almost there.

Eager to inform Sam of her discovery, she turned back to tell him.

But as she was turning her head, something at the other end of the path caught her eye.

She froze.

"S-S-Sam?"

Lucy croaked.

"What is it?"

"You… Y-You remember that… _Dark Terror _Faramir mentioned?"

"I do."

"Well, I… I think… I think I've found it!"

Sam ran out to join Lucy. There had been no point on this quest in which Lucy had sounded more blatantly terrified than at that moment. And a second later, the blonde Hobbit found out why.

Standing before them was a gigantic- In comparison to the normal-sized ones, there _was_ no word for just how huge it was- _spider._ It was big and black, covered in hair and with long, thick legs. It was facing them, but it was preoccupied with something at its feet. It was wrapping something up in a thick, white web…

"_Frodo!_"

If the spider heard Lucy, she gave no indication. This morsel had given her some significant trouble, and she did not intend to leave it be until she was certain it was trapped.

Something broke in Sam, then. All of the frustration from Gollum, all of his dedication to protecting Frodo, they combined and formed a sort of mad courage. It was one thing, mind you, to fight an orc or Uruk-Hai or goblin or troll, but this was much bigger and that more likely to kill.

Sam pulled out his sword and raised Galadriel's gift; as he did, the crystal began to glow with a pure, radiant, unearthly light that finally drew the spider's attention. Lucy shuddered at the sudden curiosity about whether or not the spider could focus some of her eyes on them and the others on something else.

Sam was shaking not from fear- Lucy, on the other hand, was about as close to paralyzed as one could get- but from adrenaline. "_You get off him!_" He bellowed at the spider, which let out a sort of demented combination of a screech and a click. Those _pincers _and those _fangs_…

Sam charged forward, trying to drive the spider back with the light. Lucy had never been one for bugs, particularly the large sort. She heard Susan's voice in her head, telling her that _technically_ it was an arachnid, and Lucy viciously told her sister's disembodied voice to shut up.

Frodo was in trouble. Lucy _had_ to help! Had to save him! But the sight of the spider was so evil, so awe and fear-inspiring that she simply couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. She'd panicked the time Edmund had dropped a fat, furry spider, barely bigger than her pinkie finger-nail onto her hand, so how in the world was she supposed to fight something a thousand times bigger?

_Some 'Lucy the Valiant'_ _I am._

And then she remembered.

_ "Whenever you get scared, or feel like crying, or feel like you need courage… Just take a deep, deep breath, close your eyes, and think of your happiest thoughts and memories."_

The Shire. Bilbo's birthday party. Laughing with her friends. Their times with the complete Fellowship. What was it Sam had said? The good in the world that was worth fighting for.

_"This is a time for you to be brave too, Lucy. You and mummy and your brothers and sister. Can you be brave for them, Lucy? For me?"_

Could she?

Could she be brave for them?

Could she be brave for Frodo and Sam?

_Yes_.

Sam screamed with fury and lunged forward, slamming the tip of his blade through a cluster of the spider's eyes. The creature shrieked with pain and stumbled frantically, trying to regain her bearings through the pain, and trying to rid herself of the troublesome little thing that should have been food by now.

Lucy let her mind focus only on one thing: Frodo.

She charged forward, falling backwards and _sliding _under the spider, not allowing herself to truly process the action lest she lose her nerve and freeze up again. She was, in a matter of seconds, behind the monstrous spider.

_I did it!_

Allowing herself a small smile, Lucy stumbled to her feet.

What she didn't see, or hear, with her blood pumping in her ears and her eyes only on Frodo's prone form, was the spider reeling backwards as she tried to shake Samwise off of her face.

And then Lucy felt something hard and sharp pierce her hand.

She felt pain.

Then numbness.

Then nothing more.

* * *

Dad watched the scene for nothing. LOL, I JUS TOTLY CHEETED U OUT OF FITE SEEN!

… _Whoa_.

See what caffeine does to me? I've had, like four diet cokes today.


	66. White Shores

On the second level of the city, the soldiers were doing all they could to hold back the Orcs. Gandalf, Pippin and Edmund were all crouched by the wall, resting with some of the other fighters and listening to the sounds of a troll hammering away at the nearby door.

They were starting to lose hope. The Orcs were storming the city, and had filled the first level almost entirely. It would only be a matter of time before they broke through. They had limited resources and soldiers left, and judging from what they could see and hear from the Pelennor Fields, Théoden and his men fared no better.

"I didn't think it would end this way." Pippin mumbled.

"You mean trapped in a city, surrounded by Orcs?" Edmund asked, an eyebrow raised. "Funny, for the past two days, I was thinking that this was exactly how it would end." Gandalf observed the boys with a curious expression.

"End?" He said softly, smiling. "No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path… One that we all must take one day."

"You didn't have to." Edmund said. "If I recall correctly, the powers that be caught you on that path and shooed you back here." Gandalf laughed, and Pippin managed a small smile.

"I did, in fact, die, Edmund. But I was reborn."

"And what happened, then, once you died? Did you go to heaven and whatnot?" In all of the chaos, Edmund had completely ignored the fact that Gandalf had _died_ and come back. He'd never realized that this was the opportunity to ask all of the questions that everyone wanted to.

Gandalf thought for a moment. "The grey rain curtain on this world rolls back," He whispered in a story-teller's voice, "And all turns to silver glass. And then you see it." He didn't speak after that, and Edmund wondered if maybe he was prompting them on purpose: Maybe he thought that this was something they didn't want to know.

"See what, Gandalf?" Pippin asked. Gandalf's smile returned.

"White shores… And beyond… A far green country, under a swift sunrise." He took a deep breath. The boy and Hobbit were enraptured with this tale of death that was not frightening or sad, but rather wonderful.

"That doesn't sound so bad." Pippin said. He looked to Edmund. "Does it?" Edmund shook his head.

"No… No it doesn't." He let out a breath. "It'd still be a shame to lose like this, though. I'd rather not be killed by a bunch of monsters who look like they slam their faces into rocks all day long." This elicited a louder laugh from Gandalf and a chuckle from Pippin. At least Edmund's way of managing stress was entertaining.

Then suddenly, Edmund remembered something he didn't want to remember. It made him feel sick. Scared. Like he'd lied or done something just as wrong. "Can… Can I tell you both something?"

Gandalf and Pippin looked at the boy with confusion. "What is it, Ed?" Pippin inquired. Edmund bit his lip.

"I feel bad about it. And I can't apologize to her now. I haven't old anyone…" He knew he made no sense, and took a deep breath, looking directly at Gandalf. "You remember how Lucy told you we got here through the wardrobe? And how none of us believed her?" Gandalf nodded slowly.

"Yes, I do."

"I…" Edmund choked as another bang hit the door behind them. "About… A couple of weeks after Lucy told us about the wardrobe… I caught her out of bed. I followed her to the wardrobe, thinking she was trying to get back to Middle Earth, and that I'd give her a good scare."

Understanding was starting to shine in Gandalf's eyes, though Pippin looked lost. Edmund didn't know if Pippin was aware of how exactly he and his siblings had gotten to Middle Earth. "If I may, Edmund," Gandalf said. "Did you enter the wardrobe after your sister?"

Edmund swallowed, looking away. "Yes. I… It was night… And I was so surprised. And on the road… There was this… Rider…" Gandalf's gaze sharpened.

"A Ring Wraith?"

"I… I think so. This one talked, though. He asked…" Now Edmund seemed to be determinedly avoiding Pippin's eyes. "He asked if… I…" Gandalf shut his eyes.

"If you knew where someone by the name of Baggins was living?" Pippin's eyes suddenly widened with comprehension, and he stared at Edmund, who could only nod painfully.

"All I said was 'nearby'. I didn't know where. Lucy hadn't told us." Gandalf sighed.

"You need not feel guilt, Edmund. By the time Lucy came through the wardrobe that third time, Frodo, Samwise, Meriadoc and Peregrin were all far gone." Edmund twisted uneasily.

"I know… But…"

"It's all right, Ed." He now looked back to Pippin, who had a small smile on his face. "They would've found us anyway. In Bree, Frodo accidentally put the Ring on, and the Wraiths came after us that night. Aragorn saved us." Edmund hesitated, but then managed a smile back.

"Still… I feel bad. I didn't stick up for her. Maybe if we'd all come when she first told us…"

_We wouldn't be in this mess._

He wouldn't give up the friends they'd made for the world… But still…  
Gandalf saw the consternation in the boy's eyes.

"Would you like to know something interesting, Edmund?" Edmund glanced up at the wizard dejectedly. "Why is it that you think your family was allowed to join the Fellowship?"

Edmund was silent for a moment, uncertain. "I dunno. You tell me: You and Lord Elrond were the ones that said yes." Gandalf smiled.

"Under normal circumstances, Edmund, you would not be here. Peter and Susan, maybe, as they were already into their teenage years. But a ten year-old boy and eight year-old girl? Never would your lives be put in such needless danger." Now Edmund was confused.

"But then, why…?" Gandalf's eyes reflected understanding.

"Why were you allowed?" He sighed, though not unhappily. "Through the counsel of the Lady Galadriel. Indeed, it was she who alerted me, through Lord Elrond, that you and your siblings had arrived in Middle Earth. And she warned us that it would behoove us to allow you four into the Fellowship."

"But why? What makes us so important?" Gandalf smiled again, eyes twinkling, and he chuckled slightly.

"I have known Galadriel for many a year now, and have learned that she does not readily surrender information of such sensitivity. Why, if we all knew what the future held in store, what sort of world would this be?" Edmund stared at him.

"Easy?" Gandalf's eyes shot up at this.

"Really? And what if it were a future you could not change? Or no matter what you did, it would turn out poorly? Where would the hope be in knowing that?"

_WHAM._

They jumped.

This time, there was a slight cracking noise hidden in the slam. The Orcs were about to break through. Gandalf looked to the two young ones beside him and gave them a short, swift nod.

Edmund and Pippin took deep breaths and took up their swords again.

* * *

Don't lie to me: I know there were a few of you wondering out there going 'Okay, there's no way a couple of little kids would be allowed into the Fellowship'.

Well. Now you know why.

And I bet there were some of you wondering when the whole 'Edmund ratted out Frodo to the Nazgul' thing would come in. I didn't make as big of a deal over it as I could have, though…

I'd like to hear your opinion: Does that make Edmund a traitor?


	67. The Witch King of Angmar

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH.

I just checked the stats on this story and saw that it had been SIX MONTHS since I've updated. BLAAAAAH.

My usual excuses abound: I'm in college, looking for a job and trying to maintain a reasonable amount of contact with mah two bestest buddies, who are basically the only people I see socially. At all.

I also found Supernatural (*dies*). Dear God, how did I EVER function before I knew the wonders of the Winchesters? If you've never seen it, watch it. It's a little dark, but the humor they throw in there is FANTASTIC.

ALSO: WOULD SOMEONE PLEASE EXPLAIN TO ME HOW CON: DAWN TREADER GOT SUCH BAD REVIEWS? It was good. It was REALLY good. OKAY, OKAY, so it deviated from the book. A lot. But all things considered, I think the changes enhanced the movie more than harmed it. But that's just me.

* * *

Théoden seemed to have come up with a plan; of course, it was also entirely possible that he had no idea what to do at all, and could think of nothing else but to call the soldiers together and try charging again.

"Rally to me! _To me!_" The king yelled. He had not quite strayed from the place he had been in earlier, when Éowyn had run to help him. Peter, Éowyn and Merry were all still fighting whatever Orcs and Haradrim came their way, and they were rapidly losing their energy.

Peter had sustained a hard blow to the back, and Éowyn and Merry had been forced to defend him for a moment while he recovered from the shock and pain of the attack. He thought maybe that his right shoulder blade might be fractured, and at the very least he would have the mother of all bruises to show for it later.

Éowyn was unharmed; she had trained with a sword for some eighteen years longer than Peter had, and had learned that many more techniques for defense. Merry had been using a sword just as long as Peter, but he was small, and the Orcs were not accustomed to fighting one of his small stature.

All three, still close to Théoden, were then there to witness what happened next.

Through the smoke and dust, one of the large, dragon-like creatures came swooping down, aiming directly for Théoden, and all around were helpless as the king and his horse were seized in the dragon monster's mouth and thrown viciously to the side.

Éowyn was stunned. Horrified. Peter and Merry couldn't move. Thankfully, none of them needed to. None of the Orcs or Haradrim wanted to get in the way of the beast.

And as he watched, Peter saw something on the monster's back… A human?

But no. The voice that hissed out from under the spiked helmet was not that of a human being.

"_Feast on his **flesh**._"

Théoden was alive, conscious, but seemed to be unable to move. He could only watch in horror as the beast descended its long neck towards him, opening a mouth full of thin, sharp teeth-

"_I will kill you if you touch him!_"

Éowyn dove in front of the monster, and Peter, who couldn't bring himself to stand by and watch any further, joined her, uncertainly holding his sword up.

"_Do not come between the Nazgul and its prey…_"

The Nazgul. Of course. He just wasn't used to seeing them without their hoods pulled up. As Peter processed this, the Nazgul's invisible eyes landed on him. He let out a slow, soft hiss.

"**_You…_**" Peter gasped as a phantom pain struck his shoulder and, unbidden, memories flooded his conscious mind. The forest. Susan and Edmund screaming. The Nazgul turning, attacking. Getting stabbed, and then Lucy attacking it.

"_Kill them both._"

The dragon monster snarled and, with speed and agility that reminded him of a snake, snapped its neck out and bit at them. Éowyn dodged to her left, Peter to his right. Éowyn caught her bearings first, spinning around and delivering three blows to the beast's neck, hacking it off.

The body stumbled about wildly, still taking orders from a brain that wasn't there anymore. The body tipped and fell over completely, the Nazgul momentarily disappearing behind the wings. But as the body spasmed, he rose again to his full height, a good seven or eight feet. Gauntlet-hands that had once held the reins of the dragon monster now held a gigantic, vicious, spiked mace hanging from a rusty silver chain. It had to be at least one hundred pounds, but he held it as though it weighed nothing, allowing it to dangle at his side.

With a piercing, inhuman screech, the Nazgul hurled the mace towards them. Once again, Éowyn dodged to her left, Peter to his right. The mace buried itself into the ground between them. Peter didn't know what was worse: Fighting a dozen different Orcs at once, or fighting this one demon that probably couldn't be killed.

The next blow was a complete swing that nearly took their heads off; Éowyn ducked, while Peter threw himself completely to the ground. He then rolled away just in time to avoid another direct hit. He got to his feet, raised his sword, and- while the Nazgul appeared to be focused on Éowyn- charged forward to hit him when his guard was down.

Mistake.

Big, big mistake.

The Nazgul had _appeared_ to be focused on the king's niece. However, he was constantly keeping an eye on Peter; from past experience, he had learned that this child and his siblings could be troublesome. He looked as though he was about to swing at Éowyn, but when Peter charged, he abruptly switched directions, swinging the mace around and plowing it into the teen.

Stars exploded behind Peter's eyes, and a shrieking, agonizing pain erupted in his chest and stomach. He could, disconnectedly, hear the sound of his own scream, and the sound of Éowyn calling his name.

Then he knew no more.


	68. Fallout

When the Corsair ships arrived at the port near Minas Tirith, they had a welcome wagon of some forty Orcs.

"Late! As usual! Pirate scum!" One Orc, with a human skull strapped to his helmet, pushed his way to the head of the crowd. "There's knife-work here needs doing- Come on, you sea rats! Get off your ships!" For the ships appeared to be suspiciously empty- No crew on deck at all.

But then, having been hiding behind the side of the boat, Aragorn, Legolas, Susan and Gimli jumped off, swords, bows and axes in hand.

The Orcs were surprised by this, though not frightened. What could four people do to their forty?

But the elf, dwarf and two humans approached them as confidently as they would if their numbers were evenly matched. Gimli hefted his axe, a wild gleam that they had become greatly familiar with in his eyes.

"There's plenty here for the both of us! _May the best dwarf win!_" He cackled to Legolas as the elf strung an arrow.

And as they ran forward into the crowd, the army of the dead poured off the ships behind them.

There were so many of the dead soldiers that the formerly intimidating numbers were no longer so intimidating. Legolas and Gimli, though, were still able to count.

" Fifteen! Sixteen!" Legolas called, letting arrow after arrow fly.

"Seventeen! Eighteen! Nineteen!" Gimli roared back

Susan was bewildered to see the giant elephant monsters roaming the fields, all with dozens of arrows embedded in their thick hides. For a second, she felt badly, knowing that they must have been in terrible pain. Her sympathy died a bit when she realized that one of these things could have easily crushed Peter somewhere on the field.

Many of Rohan's soldiers and their steeds lay dead in the field; some were crushed, others hacked apart, some with arrows through their chests. But Susan tried to will herself not to look, knowing it would end her then and there if she spotted Peter's body amongst them.

She fought at a distance with her bow and arrow at first, then with her short sword when the Orcs saw where the arrows were coming from and charged at her. She took them down with little trouble, marveling lightly at just how easy this had become over the past few months.

"_Legolas!_" She heard Aragorn scream suddenly, and she turned. One of those massive elephants was heading straight for the elf- He would be crushed if he didn't move. But instead of moving aside Legolas ran straight at and, to Susan's surprise and horror, jumped onto one of the elephant's tusks!

It swiped its trunk at him, frustrated, and he dodged, before swinging onto its front leg, then to the back, where he climbed to the top of the elephant's back and started shooting at the men gathered in the basket up there. "Thirty-three! Thirty-four!"

Susan was attacked then by a man whose head, save for his eyes, was wrapped in black cloth. He swung at her, and as a price for her distraction, she received a slash to the arm, cutting through the shoulder of her dress. He came around to strike again, and she ducked, swerving around him and delivering a swift cut to the side, bringing him down. He was wounded, and would probably kill her given the opportunity, but Susan couldn't bring herself to finish him then. It would be one thing if he was an Orc, but he wasn't- He was human.

She turned back just as, by some miracle, Legolas had succeeded in bringing down the gigantic elephant, elegantly sliding off its trunk and landing neatly on the ground. Gimli was gaping at him. When the dwarf regained his composure, he glared.

"_That still only counts as one!_"

* * *

There was little left to do after that.

The army of the dead swept across the fields, taking down the elephant monsters and then rushing into the city to kill the remaining forces there. Susan could see smoke rising from the battered form of Minas Tirith, and hoped to high heavens that Edmund, Pippin, Boromir and Gandalf were safe.

Now came the most unpleasant part of the day:

Finding Peter. Possibly dead.

"_Peter!_" She called, cupping her hand to her mouth. "_Merry!_" No response. Just then, Eomer stumbled by, breathing hard. "Eomer! Have you seen my brother? Or Merry?" The blonde man shook his head.

"No. I have not. Merry did not ride out with us." Susan's eyes narrowed.

"What?"

"The king forbade it. Said that none of us could bear Merry as a burden." Susan thought to complain about this, but decided against it. No one needed a lecture right now. "Have you seen him? The king?" She shook her head.

"No. But if I find him, I'll tell him you're looking." Eomer nodded his thanks and continued on. He seemed unharmed, but fatigued.

"_Peter! Merry!_"

The fields were covered in dead bodies, and now she was forced to take notice of them, looking for anyone with short, light blonde hair or an unusually short stature. She observed that many of the dead men were not only Rohirran, but of a different country, like the one that had surprised her earlier. They had ridden on the elephants.

Dozens of the giant elephant bodies littered the field. They were all huge, and gray- No, that one was a sort of off-blue color…

No, wait. That wasn't one of the elephant creatures.

Susan squinted at it. Whatever it was, it was clearly dead. She moved towards it, stepping over the bodies and broken weaponry. The body was serpentine in nature, scaly, with large, leathery wings. It was missing its head, which lay nearby. She wondered what on earth it had been, where-

Susan stopped. Stopped dead.

"**_PETER!_**"

* * *

Some yards away, Edmund stood stock-still, Pippin at his side.

"Did you hear that?" He asked. Pippin nodded. Edmund didn't look to see if the Hobbit was following him; he just ran straight from where he'd heard the shout. A cold, clammy hand had seized his heart, and his stomach was turning wildly.

_Don't be Susan. Don't be Susan. Tell me that wasn't just her that screamed, because she'd only scream if_-

No. No.

Oh no.

"Su?" He cried weakly. Susan turned, tears streaking down her face. She was crouched next to Peter's body.

_Body_.

No. No. _No_.

Edmund stumbled over, and Susan threw her arm around his shoulders, shaking and shivering. "He… They… I just… I don't…" She let out a tearful, pained, half-whimper half-shriek. She reached down to her belt and pulled off the horn Galadriel had given her, putting it to her lips and blowing a weak, shuddering note.

When that didn't work, she released Edmund for a moment and got to her feet. "_ARAGORN! GANDALF! GET OVER HERE!_" Susan did not know for certain that Gandalf was present, but she assumed that if Edmund was here, Gandalf would be. And honestly, she didn't care who came as long as someone did.

Her cry was hysterical, and Edmund couldn't look at her. His eyes were on his older brother. Peter's chest moved slightly, slowly and his breath was raspy. A thick trail of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. He was not moving.

"God, oh God!" Susan collapsed to her knees again, reaching out a shaky hand to stroke Peter's hair before letting out another sob. "_ARAGORN!_"

No. No. It couldn't end like this.

Edmund didn't care how nice Gandalf had made death sound. It couldn't- It wouldn't take his brother!

He tried to think. Tried to think of what they could do to stall until Aragorn came. Until he could-

…

Wait.

Wait a minute.

Edmund's hands flew to his belt and began to fumble wildly with one of the pouches. "Dammit! Come on!" He snapped, voice cracking. Finally, he worked the pouch open and yanked out the small vial of ruby liquid that Lucy had given to Faramir to give to him.

"What is that?" Susan croaked. Edmund didn't answer. Every moment he wasted meant another lost second for Peter. He refused to be too little too late on this.

Forcing Peter's mouth open, he tipped the vial inside and dropped about a quarter of the liquid inside.

He shut Peter's mouth, panting, and waited.

_Please. _

_Please. _

_Please. _

_I'm sorry I gave him so much trouble. _

_I'm sorry I was such a horrible little brother. _

_I'm sorry I argue with him so much. _

_I'll never do it again. _

**_PLEASE._**

And then Peter opened his eyes.

Susan made a funny half-gasping, half-choking noise and slapped her hands over her mouth. Edmund felt wetness on his cheeks, and knew that he was mere seconds away from bawling.

Peter was alive. _Alive_.

He took in one deep, uninjured breath. And he sat up.

"Su? Ed?"

Susan let out a scream and threw her arms around his neck, pressing her face into his shoulder. Edmund did likewise, his vision blurred by tears. Peter regained his senses completely and hugged them back, tightly.

"Are you all right?" He croaked. Edmund let out a shuddery laugh against his brother's shoulder.

"You're asking us?"

"Ed! Edmund!" Susan pulled back a bit so she could face her younger brother. "How… What is…?"

Edmund wiped his eyes and, hand trembling uncontrollably, he held up the vial and said only one word:

"Lucy."

Peter and Susan were stunned. But then, overjoyed smiles broke out over their faces, and they laughed, and would have cheered if they weren't so breathless from crying. Lucy was alive! And safe! Oh, happy day!

Suddenly, Peter remembered. "Edmund, quick. King Théoden- he's over there. He's hurt pretty badly." Edmund nodded, wiping his nose on his sleeve and climbing to his feet. He felt a bit dizzy, a bit sick, but all from joy.

He stumbled over to where Peter had directed him.

"Éowyn?" He said, surprised upon seeing the young, blonde woman crouched next to her uncle. She, much like the Pevensies, was crying, and stroking her uncle's hair. Peter hadn't been exaggerating: He was knocking on death's door.

"Edmund? Are you all right?" Éowyn asked, her voice thick with grief. A stream of blood streaked from her hairline, but she seemed to be unharmed otherwise. Paler than usual, maybe.

"Give him this." Edmund said without further discussion. "Quick. Is he still alive?" Éowyn nodded and took the vial from him, briefly examining it.

"What is this?"

"Just give it to him!" Éowyn made no further protest. The king was seconds from death; it wasn't like this substance could make it any worse. Hand shaking, she poured the rest of the tiny vial into Théoden's mouth, dropping the container numbly to the side and then just staring, watching.

And then, a second later, Théoden's eyes opened.

He looked from Éowyn to Edmund, and then back to Éowyn.

"Stubborn child," He muttered. "Did I not tell you to let me go?"

* * *

Why, you may ask, am I saving every life in this story? First Boromir, then Haldir, then Denethor, now Théoden?

I don't know.  
Maybe I wanted to make this story harder then it has to be. Like with Boromir, there are certain consequences to not killing off characters. Entire plots can be changed, though I've tried to avoid any major, major changes to the plot here.

No one can say I did it because I love all the characters, because I was none too pleased when Denethor was being so mean to Faramir… Not to mention he's loonier than the loony toons.

No, wait, that's a bonus. It makes him funny.

Actually, now that I think of it, I _do_ have a reason: I can actually _use_ the characters when they're alive. Them being dead means that they're automatically no longer actively usable within a plot.

Hmm. But what can I use them for? The story's almost over.

…

(Raises eyebrow at audience)


	69. The Final Debate

Éowyn, Merry and hundreds of others were brought into the city to be cared for over the next three days. While Éowyn had not seemed to be injured, both she and Merry had done what no living man had ever succeeded at: Killing a Nazgul. Their deed was all the more awe-inspiring when Gandalf informed them all that it had been the Witch-King of Angmar, the Nazgul leader, and the one who had stabbed Frodo and Peter.

Here, again, was proof that the Pevensies were immune to many of Middle Earth's varying powers: When Lucy had stabbed the Nazgul, she'd had felt pain, but was otherwise unharmed. But the act of Éowyn and Merry stabbing the Nazgul had left them dangerously ill; close to death, even.

Peter, Susan and Edmund never strayed farther than a few yards away from one another at any given time, and no one was foolish enough to try and part them. They had been separated long enough, and had nearly lost one another.

The night after the battle, they sat at the end of the citadel courtyard, on the edge that pointed straight out to Mordor. They recounted their tales to one another: Peter of how they'd set out, and how Éowyn had disguised herself as a soldier (Carefully excluding the part about him not recognizing her). Susan told them about the Paths of the Dead and the Corsair fleet. And Edmund recounted the story of Denethor trying to burn Boromir alive after sending him and Faramir on a suicide mission.

When they were through, Susan stared out at Mordor through the rectangular cut at the end of the wall, hugging her knees to her chest. "So that's where Lu is?" She nodded. "Mordor?"

Edmund nodded. "Just about a week ago, they were in Osgiliath. Faramir said they got out long before things got hairy, though." Peter nodded vaguely.

"That's good."  
He was lying. He liked the idea of Lucy being in Mordor no more than he liked the idea of her being in that ruined city, but it couldn't be helped.

For a moment, the three older Pevensie children stared out at Mordor and sent up silent prayers that it was a straight shot toMountDoomfrom wherever Lucy, Frodo and Sam were.

"'On you who travel with him,'" Susan said suddenly, not taking her eyes from the dark land, "'No oath, no bond is laid to go further than you will.'"

"Where'd that come from?" Edmund murmured. Susan glanced at him.

"Lord Elrond. Right before we left Rivendell. Remember?" She looked back at Peter now, too. "I didn't know what he meant, then, but now I think I do." Peter nodded.

"We were meant to stick by him until the end. Not because we had to, not because we swore to, but because he needed us and we wanted to help him in any way we could." He grimaced slightly. "Guess we failed then, hm?"

"Hey," Edmund said, eyes narrowing. "Have you forgotten exactly what we've _done_ in the past few months?"

"We were the Fellowship of the _Ring_, Ed. What have we done to help Frodo, Sam and Lucy?" Edmund stared at his older brother in shock.

"Are you that _thick?_" He shook his head. "Susan, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to steal your thunder for a moment and play the _brain_ of this outfit, all right?" Susan cocked an eyebrow and quirked her lips at this, but nodded. "You know what a Pyrrhic victory is, right Peter?"

"If I said _no_, I'm sure you'd enlighten me anyway. _Yes_, I know what a Pyrrhic victory is. You win the war, but the collateral damage is enough to make the win _not_ worth it." Edmund nodded.

"What good would it do if the Ring was destroyed, but the ten of us were all with Frodo, Sam and Lucy instead of fighting? What if Gandalf hadn't brought in the Rohirrim, or whacked Boromir's dad over the head so he wouldn't surrender to the Orcs? What if Pippin hadn't convinced Treebeard and the Ents to fight? What if you and Aragorn hadn't snapped Théoden out of it at Helm's Deep?"

"How do you even _know_ about that?" Peter asked. "You weren't there!"

"Well, I'm not _deaf_, Peter! What else do you think people were muttering about at the celebration in Edoras?"  
There was silence amongst them for a moment as they processed Edmund's reasoning.

"He's right," Susan whispered. "What good would the world be if everything had been blown to pieces once the Ring was gone?" Peter stared at the ground for a moment, face blank.

"I suppose." He murmured. A gust of hot wind blew from the east, but none of them looked at Mordor. Susan replaced a stray strand of dark hair and regarded her blonde brother softly.

"We've played our parts, Peter. This is how it had to be. And now Lucy, Sam and Frodo are going to play theirs."

* * *

Later that day, Gandalf, King Théoden, Eomer, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Merry, Pippin, Faramir and Boromir as well as the three Pevensies all gathered into the throne room. Gimli made himself comfortable on Denethor's seat, and though Edmund noted Boromir and Faramir's rather uneasy looks, they made no remarks. Odds were on the idea that they were more focused on trying to make themselves look stronger and healthier than they felt.

"Frodo," Gandalf began, pacing slowly about the room. "Has passed beyond my sight. The darkness is deepening." Aragorn shook his head tiredly.

"Is Sauron had the Ring, we would know."  
"We'd be dead." Edmund intoned flatly. Neither Susan nor Peter thought that this was a particularly cheery notion, but neither of them had the energy to contradict their little brother at that moment.

"It's only a matter of time." Gandalf said with a surprisingly helpless shrug. "He has suffered a defeat, yes, but behind the walls of Mordor, our enemy is regrouping." Gimli pulled his pipe from his mouth, a fine wisp of smoke rising lazily from his mouth.

"Let him stay there. Let him rot! Why should we care?"

"Because _Frodo_ is _there_." Susan said disbelievingly. "_Sam and Lucy _are with him. They've got to get from wherever they are toMountDoom, and they're going to have to wade through an ocean of orcs to do it!" Gimli appeared to be appropriately chagrined by this response.

Gandalf was slightly wide-eyed and had a slight impression of shock and disbelief within his clear blue eyes. His next words made everyone in the room seize up with astonishment:

"I've sent him to his death."

It went without saying that, with Sam and Lucy as devoted as they were to Frodo, that they were condemned as well with that statement.

"Gandalf!" Théoden whispered, sounding vaguely scandalized. "I would think you'd be the last of all of us to lose hope!"

"There _is_ still hope," Aragorn insisted. "All he needs is time and safe passage across the plains of Gorgorath."

"But how do we _do_ that?" Peter asked. "How can we guarantee that passage? We can't actually go into Mordor, can we?" Boromir shook his head.

"You may recall my words at Elrond's Council," He said gravely. "The air is thick with ash, a poisonous fume. We would also be severely out numbered- The odds of being surrounded or trapped within that forsaken land would be overwhelming."  
"Which is why we should draw Sauron's armies _out_ of Mordor." Aragorn said pointedly. "We force him to empty his lands. Then we muster our full strength and march on the Black Gates."

Gimli choked on the smoke of his pipe, eyes bulging.

"Brilliant." Peter whispered, eyes gleaming with admiration for Aragorn.

"We cannot achieve victory through strength of arms." Eomer said warily.

"It is not unlikely that this endeavor will end as the eradication of our entire force." Faramir added.

"But we _can_ give Frodo the chance to destroy the Ring- So long as we keep Sauron's eye fixed upon us. If he can make it to the mountain and throw the Ring into the flames, the whole of Mordor will fall to ruin." Aragorn supplied.

"A distraction." Legolas nodded.

"… And then it won't matter if we win the fight at the Gates or not," Susan finished slowly, "Because Mordor will be overall defeated. Without Sauron, the orcs won't know what to do with themselves."

"Exactly. Without Sauron's might directing and driving them, they will be too frightened of the city and its inhabitants to cause trouble." Aragorn looked at Gandalf, and the wizard was slowly starting to smile. He was getting it.

Gimli chuckled grimly. "Certainty of death. Small chance of success." He snorted. "What are we waiting for?"

"Sauron will suspect a trap," Gandalf warned. Though cheered, he remained realistic. "He will not take the bait."

But Aragorn gave a small, cool smile.

"Oh, I think he will."

* * *

Peter knew that this was, perhaps, not a good idea.

Aragorn had not elaborated upon his plan, his way to ensure that Sauron would take the bait for their trap, but when Peter caught a glimpse of the Ranger, alone, striding into the dark throne room, he was compelled to follow.

Swiftly and as silently as possible, hoping that Aragorn would confuse his footsteps with the dozens of others wandering about, Peter slid into the throne room and immediately hid himself behind one of the many stone columns that ran the length of the chamber. Aragorn gave no indication that he'd seen the teenager, and strode with a purpose to the throne platform. His footsteps echoed in the soundless room, and the shadows from the few faint lights cast over him eerily.

Denethor, being the Steward, had his own, smaller throne to the front of the platform. But directly next to his seat was a small staircase that led up to the throne of the rightful king of Gondor: Aragorn's. Placed on the fourth step from the bottom was an object wrapped in a burlap cloth, looking entirely out of place on the clean, white marble step.

Aragorn knelt down and unwrapped the object. His figure obscured Peter's view of the object. The burlap and the shape that it covered rang familiar in Peter's memory, but the answer danced just out of reach.

There was a sudden noise: It almost sounded like a whoosh of flame, and a distant rumble of thunder. Aragorn's head snapped back, but he did not move away. Peter could just barely see his left arm moving, shaking, reaching towards the object Aragorn was hesitating.

Something in the back of Peter's mind was screaming, but he couldn't summon the information he _knew_ he had to solve the mystery of this object.

The sound of distant thunder and crackling flame persisted until Aragorn's arm was suddenly solid and steady; he had grabbed a hold of the object on the stairs. Then, in a flash, he'd scooped it up and raised it to eye level. The round orb of an object was suddenly visible to Peter, and his heart jumped into his throat.

It was the Palantír.

Why on _earth_ was Aragorn using the Palantír? Wasn't it what Sauron had used to drive Denethor batty? Hadn't Pippin been driven nearly to a state of catatonia just by touching it? Hadn't Saruman been ensnared by Sauron by way of the Palantír?

What was Aragorn _planning?_

The Palantír roared to life and filled with fire. In the center of that fire a dark rip formed, which was directed at Aragorn: The Eye of Sauron. Aragorn was trembling, though Peter seemed to sense that it was not from fear, but rather effort. Perhaps he was waging psychological warfare against Sauron, in an attempt to keep him from controlling him the way that he'd controlled Saruman and Denethor.

"Long have you hunted me," Aragorn rasped. "Long have I eluded you. No more." He unsheathed his sword and swung it up in front of his face so that Sauron could get a nice, hard look at it. "Behold, the Sword of Elendil!"

And suddenly, the puzzle pieces snapped together with astonishing speed.

Aragorn was the Heir of Isildur. The Rightful King of Gondor, and the last hope for both his country and the race of men in general. In eradicating him, Sauron would also destroy mankind's only remaining hope of freedom. Aragorn was presenting Sauron with an offer far too tempting to pass up: Defeating the last remaining hope for man.

But what was this?

Aragorn had suddenly gone rigid. The hand holding his sword was lowering slowly. He was transfixed upon the Palantír, and had brought it closer to his face. The image presented to him was far too blurry for Peter to see, considering his distance from Aragorn and how closely Aragorn was holding it to himself.

Suddenly, Aragorn dropped the Palantír as though it had burned him. He leapt to his feet and stumbled back.

Something fell- from Aragorn's clothes, his hands, Peter didn't know- it was pearly white and glimmered in the darkness of the room before hitting the ground. It was only after a moment's thought that Peter recognized it as the pendant that Aragorn wore around his neck, the Evenstar.

Aragorn was silent for a good, long moment after that, staring down at the fallen pendant. Peter barely dared to breathe. Aragorn's breath, however, was ragged, and echoed through the hall. Peter couldn't help but wonder what he'd seen. Aragorn's body seemed to sag a bit, his head falling and hanging.

"Do you believe that the world," Aragorn said in an audible whisper, causing Peter to jump, "could ever be the same after this, Peter?" Peter, still a bit shaken, did not respond. Aragorn went on. "Could the sun ever shine as brightly? Could the water ever be as pure? The trees as green in the summer, and golden in the fall? Could the sky ever be as clear?" He turned as Peter slowly emerged from behind the column.

Aragorn looked weak. Almost defeated. Frightened, even. Peter swallowed a lump in his throat as Aragorn's hopeless expression seemed to permeate his soul. "Could life ever be as good as it was before?"

Over the months, Peter had come to idolize Aragorn and his strength. His determination. His _hope_. And now, now he had to answer this seemingly rhetorical question correctly if he ever wanted to see any of those things again. And what could he say? Aragorn was the older, wiser one. Peter was just a child.

What could he say?

"I suppose," Peter said, his voice the only noise in the otherwise dead-silent chamber, "We'll never know unless we try to fix it. If we don't… Try to make things better now, we know that things will _definitely_ never go back to normal. So we… Have to try." Aragorn thought this over for a moment.

"That we do, Peter," He murmured, slowly kneeling to retrieve the Evenstar. "That we do."

* * *

Susan stared out at the distant land of Mordor and considered, not for the first time, that she might die.

No- Probably _would_ die.

Thousands of orcs all around, if Gandalf, Boromir and Aragorn's estimations were correct. Everywhere. Probably surrounding them. At Helm's Deep, as least there had been only so many Uruk-Hai that could fit themselves into the fortress at once; and when the remaining forces of Rohan and the Elves had charged out, the arrival of the Rohirrim had prevented them from being overwhelmed.

When Susan had arrived with Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli on Pelennor, they'd found that many hundreds of the enemy had been wiped out, and they had been surrounded and protected by the King of the Dead and his army. The wide open spaces had allowed for some room for fighting.

Now they were going out with only a comparative handful of men to face off against thousands of orcs that would surround and kill them all without even a slight hesitation. There would be no escape from this battle, save some sign that Frodo had succeeded in his task some time in that night.

Susan had already accepted that this would not happen.

What happened to the simpler days, before war and conflict? What happened to day trips to the sea with their parents? Christmas Eves filled with warmth and laughter around the fire? Not even- What had happened to the boring days of sitting in a classroom and reading about people dying in wars and never really feeling that sense of loss or fear, because there was such a small chance that she would ever experience such a thing herself?

Susan wondered what it would be like to be truly near death. Throughout all of their endeavors in Middle Earth, Susan had been the one to sustain the least amount of injuries since the splitting of the Fellowship. Peter had been fatally wounded, coughing up blood after the battle on the Pelennor Fields. Edmund hadn't been stabbed, but had nastily dislocated his arm when the Uruk-Hai had attacked them at the Falls.

And her? She'd gotten scratched. Maybe a few minor stabs that hadn't done enough damage to be serious. What would it be like to feel cold, rusted steel piercing her chest and stomach, and to feel her blood seeping out? What would it be like to feel herself grow weaker and weaker until darkness finally overcame her vision?

"Damn," She whispered, shutting her eyes.

"I would say that that sums up this entire situation quite nicely."

Susan jumped and turned, her arm still resting on the cool stone windowsill. Éowyn was pale and somber, though otherwise she looked very much unharmed. "Are you feeling better, Éowyn?" Susan inquired as Éowyn took a seat beside her on the bed. Her eyes were alarmingly lifeless.

"I suppose."  
"Are you in pain?"

"Not physically, no. But I cannot deny that my soul bears much agony."

"Why? Did something happen?"

Éowyn turned her dead stare to the younger girl. "What hope does man have now? A suicide mission to the Black Gates? What good is a world saved if half of its people die in fighting for it?"

"We have to try, Éowyn. There's nothing else to do." Susan paused. "Are you coming with us?" Éowyn let out a flat laugh.

"Of course not. It was all I could do to convince my uncle and brother to not tie me down to the bed in the first place. They fear for me and my safety." She didn't say this with the same fiery derision she had that night at Dunharrow. "And what does it matter? What does anything matter? Our world has grown cold, and the warmth has fled from the sun. We are defeated."

Susan stared at her. "Where has your courage gone?" She whispered. "Where has your hope gone? All we have left is hope. As long as there are people willing to fight, there will always _be_ hope. You can't give up on that!" First Gandalf, and now Éowyn? Where were their pillars of strength going?

A gust a wind blew through the window and tugged at their hair. Éowyn shut her eyes. "After a while, it becomes so hard to believe in the best." Susan was quiet for a moment, thinking, pondering.

"What made you believe it before?" Susan murmured. "What gave you the strength to fight… Even when you knew you might die?"

Éowyn was silent.

"I don't know. I think it just… Came from within me."

And however uneasy she was with this answer, Susan knew that it would have to be enough.

* * *

Edmund really did not want to do this.

He didn't want to go riding out and die in a blaze of arguable glory for a chance that Frodo, Lucy and Sam might not end up seizing.

But then, there were a lot of things he didn't necessarily want to do. He hadn't wanted to go exploring Middle Earth at the beginning, now had he? And he'd done that. He hadn't wanted to travel up and down the world's largest, snowiest and most irritating mountain, but he'd weathered that. He hadn't wanted to fight the Uruk-Hai and possibly get killed, but he'd pulled his sword out anyway. He hadn't wanted to fight the orcs at Minas Tirith, but he'd done it anyway with Pippin and Gandalf at his side.

But God, this was different.

This was so… _Final_.

This was the last battle, the last big blow-out. The last chance to give Frodo, Sam and Lucy their chance to destroy the Ring while they could, _if_ they were still alive. He wasn't certain what scared him more: The idea of charging out to meet an army of countless orcs, or the idea that his little sister and the two small Hobbits he'd come to recognize as friends could be dead or too close to death to finish their job.

He didn't really know what to do with himself at this point. Sleeping would be wise, but really, who could sleep at a time like this? They'd be going into battle tomorrow, riding off to the Black Gates in the morning. Who could sleep before _that_?

"Edmund!"

Pippin and Merry came bounding into the room and leapt onto Edmund's bed. He blinked at them. "Hi." He muttered. Pippin and Merry grinned at him. Heaven knew why.

"We thought, that given the dire circumstances of tomorrow," Merry said with a grin, "That you might like to get a taste of pipeweed tonight."

Edmund stared at the pair for the longest time. Merry was offering a pipe, and Pippin was offering the pipeweed.

"Are you serious?"

"Of course! You're our friend: We'd love to share it with you." Edmund had to laugh at the absurdity of it all. There was a good chance that the world could go coasting to hell in a finely woven hand-basket the following morning, and they wanted to know if he wanted a whiff of pipeweed?  
Well. Why not?  
Edmund threw up his hands. "Fine. I'll probably die tomorrow anyway; what's it matter if Susan finds out tonight and kills me?"

"That's the spirit!" Merry applauded as he took the weed from Pippin and set up the pipe. Edmund watched with bemusement until Merry lit the pipe and handed it over to him, grinning and nodding. "Now go on and take a big, deep _puff_." He encouraged.

Edmund did so.

And then he gagged.

Pippin and Merry howled with laughter as Edmund hacked violently on the foul taste in his mouth, also silently vowing with what little brainpower he had left that he was _never_ going to take up smoking, and wondering how in the heck these two managed to do it as often as they did.

"Yck-Yck-Yck-Youc-_You t-t-two_ ac-ac-ac-_actually_ get a b-_buzz_ off that?" He croaked as the pair continued to beat their fists into the bed and cry with their amusement.

"The-The look on your _face!_" Merry cackled. Pippin couldn't even get the words out, such was his mirth. Edmund, against his will, found himself laughing as well even as he coughed, wondering fearfully if maybe the stress was starting to make him crack.

Eventually, the trio was calm again, Merry and Pippin snickering to one another about how Edmund's reaction was even better than expected. Edmund stared at them as they packed the pipe and the pipeweed away. "I don't get how you two can be so… _Not_ depressed right now." Merry gave Edmund a small smile that seemed to fit the mood a lot better.

"Someone has to." Pippin chuckled weakly.

"If you don't laugh a bit, you'll go mad with fear and worry. Laughter gets it all out, you know? So if you think you can have a good chuckle at something when you're scared out of your wits, you should do it." He said.

"And by that reckoning, we should have slipped pipeweed to the rest of the city as well," Merry muttered. "Everyone's so…"

"Bloody terrified?" Edmund filled in dryly.

"That about sums it up."

For a moment, there was silence.

"Can't help everyone, though. And not everyone appreciates a joke in a situation like these." Pippin said sadly.

"Mm."

More silence.

"Do you think we can do it?" Pippin pressed his friends gently. "Do you think we can win? Or at least give Frodo his chance?" Merry and Edmund exchanged brief gazes with one another.

"Don't know." Edmund mumbled.

"But we have to try."


	70. Escaping the Tower of Cirith Ungol

Lucy awoke to the sound of creaking metal and distant shouting.

When she creaked her eyes open, she found herself staring at a dark, rough wall. Her hands were bound. Her clothing felt funny- messed up, like someone had been tugging at them. And her hand…

Oh, her hand was throbbing!

Lucy felt oddly disconnected with her limbs, as though the strings connecting her brain to her hands and feet had been partially cut. She struggled to recall what had happened immediately prior to falling unconscious, and jumped against her will when an image of a large (Very, very, _very_ large) spider popped into her mind's eye.

The spider. Right. The 'Dark Terror'.

And her hand! That was right- Lucy had slid under that massive, evil thing and come out the other side. And as she'd stood up, she'd felt a terrible pain in her hand. It had to have been the spider; Lucy hadn't managed to see if it had any stingers or pinchers on its farther end, but spiders were known for having many unpleasant things on them, and it wouldn't have surprised her if this one did too.

Suddenly, a soft growl and a clinking noise from directly behind her made Lucy freeze up. There was someone- or something- in this room with her. And she doubted it was friendly.

Her suspicions were confirmed immediately.

"Hands off!" A rough, gravelly voice snapped. A little gasping noise followed this. Lucy's immediate reaction was to roll over and see what was happening, but she caught herself just in time. The only way this could get worse was if these things- she was starting to suspect orcs- knew that she was awake. "That shiny shirt- That's mine!"

A comparatively nasal voice, though no less scratchy, sneered, "It's going to the Great Eye, along with everything else."

"_I don't take orders from stinkin' Morgul rats!_"

"_Oof!_"

The sound of armor and a body hitting the stone wall made Lucy flinch. There was scuffling, then metal on metal.

"You touch it, and I'll stick this blade in your _gut_." The nasal-voiced orc hissed.

The sounds of a much louder and violent scuffle ensued, with the orcs snarling and- Lucy assumed- swearing at each other in their own orc language. The conflict went on for about three minutes until the scream of the nasal-voiced orc could be heard falling away. Moments later, shouts rang out from below.

Lucy shivered. The deep-voiced orc had either pitched his companion out a window or down some sort of hole. What would they do to her if they thought she was awake?

Again, her answer came with great alacrity.

"_The scum tried to knife me! KILL 'IM!_" The deep voiced-orc roared. Immediately, the sounds of a fight broke out from below, and shouts of pain echoed up and into the chamber.

Suddenly, Lucy heard something that was decidedly _not_ an orc barely a few feet away from her. It was a voice, grunting softly, struggling. That voice- She knew that voice! She'd know that voice anywhere!

"Frodo?" Lucy whispered. The grunting and struggling stopped.

"Lucy?"

Lucy gave a shuddery, soft cry of relief and twisted herself in Frodo's direction. He was shirtless and covered in the spider's web, but he was otherwise alive and unharmed. "The spider! I almost- It looked like it had- Are you all right?"

Frodo nodded wearily. "I'm fine. What about you? Are you hurt? Where's Sam?"

"I- I don't know. I don't think I'm hurt too badly. I think the spider got me too. My hand." She looked around. "The orcs are gone! Quick- Let's- Try to-" Lucy tried quite vigorously to free her hands from their binds, but to no avail.

"I know, they've tied us tight. They must-"

"Stop your struggling, you dunghill rats!" A orc- the nasal voiced one- had popped his head into the room, via a hole in the floor that Lucy now saw must have led onto a ladder or staircase. Lucy screamed in fright at the monster's sudden appearance, and he sneered at her.

"I'm gonna bleed you two like a couple of stuck _piggies_." Lucy whimpered and squirmed closer to Frodo as the orc unsheathed a small dagger and held it up. Like all orc weaponry, it was rusty and evil looking.

Frodo and Lucy both recoiled, helpless to do anything other than stare as the orc took one step closer-

And then stopped dead as a sick squelching sound came from behind. The dagger fell from his hand, clattering loudly on the floor, and suddenly a sharp, glowing _thing_ emerged from the center of his chest. What was-?  
"Sting!" Lucy gasped. The orc started to sink to the ground, and Samwise the Brave appeared over his shoulder, snarling.

"Not if I stick you first." Sam growled.

"Sam!" Lucy and Frodo cried at the same time, smiling for the first time in a long at their friend's timely appearance. Sam yanked Sting from the orc's chest, and the reviled creature fell over, dead. All of the malice left Sam's face, and he was sweet old Samwise once more, looking utterly relieved at having found Frodo and Lucy.

"Sam," Frodo croaked as Sam began to undo their bonds. "Sam, I'm so sorry. For everything."

"That's no worry, Mr. Frodo." Sam said calmly. "We need to get out of here. Now. This place is swarming with orcs."

"How did you ever find us up here?" Lucy wondered as she rubbed her liberated wrists.

"I saw one of the orcs carrying Frodo's Mithril shirt. I knew they had to have you somewhere around."

"But did they see you?"

"Of course they did!"  
"And you fought them off, all on your own?" Lucy sounded like a child listening to a story of great heroism, which was precisely what this was, and Sam blushed deeply.

"Well, I didn't have much option, now did I? I couldn't just leave you two in here, and those orcs were in the way." Lucy laughed and threw her arms around Sam's neck.

"But it's over."

Both Sam and Lucy turned to face Frodo. He was sitting up now, stunned and forlorn. "What, Frodo?"

"They've taken the Ring." He gestured to his neck, which the Ring was no longer secured on, and Lucy gasped, horrified.

"What do we do?" She moaned. "They might have taken it to Sauron by now!"  
"Beggin' your pardon, you two," Sam said quietly, "But they haven't." And with that, Sam climbed to his feet, reached into his pocket and pulled out the Ring, safe and sound on its silver chain. "I thought I'd lost you both. When the spider got you, I thought the poison had killed you both. I took the Ring off of Frodo for safekeeping."

And with that, he held it out to Frodo.

"Give it to me." The way Frodo said it, Lucy would have thought that Sam was holding it to his chest protectively. But Sam hesitated, a slightly glazed look in his eye as he looked between Frodo and the Ring.

"Sam?" Lucy whispered.

_The Ring,_ She thought. _It's the Ring. It's calling to him._

"Sam, give me the Ring. Give it to me, Sam." Frodo repeated. Sam blinked.

"Sam, give it to Frodo." Lucy murmured. "Please."

Sam did. He held it out further, and Frodo quickly snatched it from him. Lucy heaved a sigh of relief.

"Understand, Sam- The Ring is my burden to bear. It will destroy you, Sam." Frodo struggled to his feet, as though the Ring returning to his neck had added a heavy weight that was dragging him down. Sam nodded slowly, as though he were still waking from a dream.

"Come now," Sam mumbled. "Best find you some clothes. You can't go walking through Mordor in naught but your skin."

"But what are we to do?" Lucy inquired. "We can't go walking through Mordor like this. We hardly look like orcs."

"There are orcs down below that have plenty of good armor- We can grab some of that."

* * *

"Frodo? Sam?"

"Yes, Lucy?"  
"Why didn't Peter, Susan, Edmund or I carry the Ring?"

Both Sam and Frodo came to a complete stop. They'd secured the smallest examples of orc armor that they could and thrown them on, including some large helmets that completely consumed their heads and hid the fact that they were not orcs.

"What do you mean?" The wariness in Frodo's voice stung, and Lucy tried to remind herself that it was the Ring, and nothing else that was to blame for that.

"We aren't affected by the Ring. Why couldn't we carry it?"

There was silence for a moment. Lucy swallowed frequently to keep her mouth and throat from drying, and the armor was heavy and bulky on her tiny, thin form.

"You're kids." Frodo mumbled. "The person who carries the Ring has to worry about everyone else trying to take it. I don't think anyone else would have wanted you or your brothers or sister to be targeted for being the bearer."

Phrases like "not mature enough" and "unreliable" danced through Lucy's head, and she knew they had to be lingering on Frodo's tongue. _It was a stupid question,_ Lucy thought ruefully. _Who would trust a kid with the most dangerous weapon in this world?_

The path was rocky and covered in ash and soot. Lucy knew she'd need a dozen showers when this was said and done to cleanse herself of _just_ this trip to Mordor. The path came to a steep hill that gave them a surprisingly encompassing view of Mordor.

"We made it." Sam whispered. "We've made it to Mordor."

MountDoomwas, as far as Lucy could see, about two miles worth of walking away. It was actively spitting fire and ash into the air, rumbling ominously every now and then. Lucy shuddered; what terrible luck they'd have if it decided to erupt fully and completely before they could get rid of the Ring.

And then, to the left ofMountDoomwas a tall, dark tower with a large, fiery orb at the top. It spun like a searchlight, casting a red-orange beam over the land, sweeping back and forth over the fiery pits below.

"It's him," Frodo croaked. "The _Eye_." He sounded horrified, dreadful. Lucy grasped his hand.

"We have to go in there, Mr. Frodo." Sam urged. "There's nothing for it. Let's just get down this hill, first and foremost."


	71. Onward to Mount Doom

It took them the rest of that day and into the next morning, going completely without sleep and only a little rest, to travel through Mordor as they made their way toMountDoom. Lucy thought of the trek as a cross between Emyn Muil and Ithilien: There was a lot of climbing to be done, but the climbing was not so difficult or steep that they needed ropes to manage it.

They took plenty of tumbles, though the orc armor was, thankfully, tough enough to absorb the impacts and protect their skin, which was unaccustomed to the terrain. Lucy had to grit her teeth and force herself to keep walking even when she felt the dirt and soot creeping into her armor and making her feel far grimier than she'd felt thus far on this journey.

There was little to no conversation amongst their trio. Talking made it abundantly obvious that they weren't orcs, and they didn't dare do anything that might even possibly expose them. All they did was march along for hours upon hours through the humid, dismal wasteland, trying and succeeding at being ignored by the other orcs.

The orcs currently inhabiting Mordor had their own duties to attend to: Leading troops, taking orders, carrying heavy objects, etcetera, etcetera, and they didn't have time to bother with a few strays that, more likely than not, were attending to their own specified duties as well.

Lucy couldn't tell if it was day or night when Sam spoke. "Look! The orcs! They're moving off!" Frodo and Lucy turned to look. Indeed, hundreds of little fiery pinpoints- orcs carrying torches, most likely- were moving as one, big tide off to the left. Horns sounded in the distance, as well as drums.

"There's so many," Lucy whispered gleefully. "What luck! So many are getting out of the way!"

Lucy had never really believed in 'jinxing' one's self, but she believed, for that moment, that she had. Because just as those words left her mouth, the ground began to shake, and a column of marching orcs came around the corner.

"_Move along, you worthless scum! I'll whip you to the **bone** if I have to! Get on! Move it! Go!_" Sam grabbed Frodo and Lucy and hurled them down into the rocky side of the path, adjusting his helmet so that it covered more of his very not-orc-like skin.

"Sit and don't make eye-contact," He whispered swiftly, putting his head down. Lucy shut her eyes and held her breath and counted to ten and then twenty and prayed and prayed and prayed as the column started to pass them that the orcs would just keep walking and never even bother to notice them there-

"_GET UP!_"

Lucy felt something strike her helmet, making her jump. An orc commander was standing over them, bellowing for them to get up and join the column, calling them lazy, worthless slugs. And what could they do? They couldn't object, couldn't fight back. That wouldn't just get them killed: It would get them decimated.

Lucy, Sam and Frodo were shoved into the line, the throng of orcs that were stumbling along. Lucy squeaked slightly as she felt the tip of a jagged sword poke her shoulder blade. She reached out with one hand and grasped Frodo's arm, terrified at the thought of losing him and Sam in the crowd. The march seemed to last forever, primarily downhill, pressed amongst dozens of smelly, snorting orcs.

"COMPANY, HALT!" Someone roared. The column came to a quick but sloppy stop. Then, Lucy heard a word that she knew heralded much danger and trouble for her and her friends:  
"IN-SPEC-_TION!_"

Lucy bit back a gasp. Inspection? They couldn't pass inspection! They weren't orcs! They were going to get caught!

Lucy never did find out if it was fatigue or this terrible realization that caused Frodo to gasp, "Sam, help me!" He started to sink to the ground, his eyes spinning, and Lucy and Sam quickly knelt down to help him back up. None of the orcs around them seemed to hear or care.

"Stand up! Frodo, you have to get up!" Lucy whispered as softly and frantically as she could, tugging on his arm. A particularly large and ugly orc was making the rounds, giving cursory inspections to the orcs in front of them and pushing them about as he waded through the crowd. If he saw that Frodo was down, what would he do?

"It's so heavy," Frodo whispered almost deliriously. "So heavy."  
The armor, or the Ring?  
Suddenly, the inspector-orc came to a dead halt. To Lucy's growing horror, he turned to look directly at them. Half his nose appeared to have been bitten off; one eye was a foggy white, whilst the other was blood red. He opened his mouth and let out an animalistic bellow before hiking towards them.

Sam saw the same thing that Lucy had. "What do I do? What do we do?" He wheezed, looking back and forth frantically. The orc was shoving through the masses, getting gradually closer.

"Hit me."

Sam and Lucy stared at Frodo. "What?" Lucy asked oddly.

"Hit me! Start fighting! Now!"

Sam pushed himself off of Frodo without another moment's hesitation. "Get off me, you filthy maggot!" He roared, aiming a very weak kick (that he made quite realistic) at Frodo's torso. Frodo and Sam started to tussle, and Lucy looked for an opportunity to join in, but found none; instead, she stood back with the other orcs and pretended to cheer along with them as the 'fight' raged on.

"Rip his head off!"

"Bleed 'im out!"

"Kill him!"

"BREAK IT UP!"  
The same orc commander that had dragged them into the column came back with his whip, cracking it upon Sam and Frodo's heads and accidentally nicking more than a few of the bystanders. "BREAK IT UP!"

"OI!" The ugly inspector-orc approached the commander, lip curled back into a sneer. "I'll have your guts if you don't shut this rabble down!" He barked.

"Now! Go! Let's go!" Frodo hissed, tugging Sam and Lucy through the crowds as inconspicuously as possible. No one made any move to hinder them, interested to see the commander and the inspector go at it. They waded through the legs of the surrounding orcs and dove into a tent made of patchwork black, ragged material. The light from a fire momentarily reflected off of their armor before they slipped out the back of the tent and began to hobble away from the column with all due speed.

Lucy heard more shouting, more screaming, and then the sound of a horn and stamping feet; the column was moving on.

They had escaped.

* * *

As they grew closer to Mount Doom, the terrain grew flatter; the rocks were bigger, but there were less of them. Such was their haste and fear at being spotted, they didn't know how long they walked; all Lucy knew was, at one point, Frodo collapsed near a rock, gasping.

"Frodo!" She cried. There were no orcs nearby, and she removed her helmet; there was little to no change in the heat on her face, and she coughed. She'd breathed in far too much smoke and ash.

"I can't… I can't manage the Ring." Frodo choked, removing his helmet and tossing it aside. Seeing his companions without their cover, Sam also removed his helmet and stared down at Frodo sadly. "It's… So heavy. Too heavy."

"But we're close, Frodo," Lucy pleaded, her arms around his shoulders. "We're so close- You see? The mountain's right there. We'll be there in a matter of hours. Don't you see? All these months we've traveled- We're nearly there!"

"And we're taking the straightest path we can to get there." Sam added, using the pointed orc sword to gesture to the mountain. "We should get rid of this armor. The orcs are gone, and we won't be needing it. We should get rid of everything we don't absolutely need."

The armor went, as did the cooking pots and pans. As did the bags. Once this was done, they sat down to rest for a bit. Lucy's head hung heavily on Sam's shoulder. She tried desperately to recall a time when she wasn't this tired; a time when she'd been able to run around with her brothers and sister for hours on end and not get as tired as this.

Peter, Susan and Edmund.

Where were they now? Were they safe? Happy?  
Alive?  
Lucy shook her head as vigorously as she could manage. Now was not a time for pessimism. If she gave up hope, there would be nothing left to keep her going. There would be nothing left to guide her through this impossible task, and Frodo and Sam needed her there. She needed to support them in whatever way she could manage to do so.

"Mr. Frodo," Sam whispered, sounding awed. "Miss Lucy- Look." Lucy followed Sam's gaze into the sky, past the clouds that turned red in the fiery light from the volcano. Up above, just past the clouds, was the tiniest dot of white in the sky. "Light," Sam said wondrously. "There is light… And beauty up there. No shadow can touch it."

They both looked at Frodo. His eyes were shut, and with a roiling feeling in her stomach, Lucy realized that if she couldn't see his chest and neck moving with every breath, she would think that he was dead. His skin was a sickly yellow, and covered in dirt. His eyes were rimmed with red.

"Hold on, Frodo," Lucy murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck again. "Just hold on."

* * *

An hour later, they ran out of water.

They shared it as sparingly as they could, but now it was completely gone. Frodo had the last bit, and as he sat and processed that, he panted,

"There will be none for the return journey." He noted.

Lucy was stunned. That was the most positive sentiment Frodo had expressed in days. But Sam picked up the negative slack quickly.

"I don't think there'll be a return journey, Mr. Frodo." He cast a sad gaze at Lucy, who did not flinch or wince. She knew now, understood that which she tried to ignore before: There were very good odds that they were going to die in Mordor, either killed by Sauron and his forces or by starvation and dehydration.

And strangely enough, she was at peace.

The continued on, though it became abundantly clear that they were on their last legs. Frodo was starting to sink into delirium, either from the Ring or dehydration. He was swiping uselessly at invisible phantoms, his eyes glassy. They did not speak to one another; speaking utilized energy that they could not afford to waste.

They reached the foot of the mountain, and the limb was surprisingly level; at least, more level than Lucy believed it would be. She remembered clay volcanoes made in school, with steep sides that were almost entirely vertical. Not the sort of thing you could climb up.

Lucy was descending into her own 'get-it-done' phase, where her mind shut down and her feet just kept moving, when a bright, orange-red light suddenly swept over them, and Sam cried out "Get down! Get _down!_" He grabbed Lucy and pushed her down.

The Eye of Sauron had swept its beam of light over them. Frodo was still standing, stunned, like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car. When he did, finally register what was happening, he didn't so much fall to the ground to hide so much as he toppled over and lay still.

Lucy shivered. "What'll he do if he sees us?" Sam shook his head wearily.

"I don't know; call the orcs back, maybe? Order them to come and get us? Even- Wait- He's turning away!"

And indeed, the searchlight that was the Eye of Sauron had suddenly whipped away, and was now focused on something else. Sam and Lucy crawled over to Frodo. "Frodo, get up!" Lucy shook his weakly.

"Mr. Frodo, it's gone- Something in the North's drawn its gaze. We have to move now, while we still can!" And for a moment, one horrible moment, Frodo was still, unmoving. But then, slowly, steadily, Frodo returned to his feet.

They clambered up the edge of the mountain, panting and gasping. Having had that one moment of laying on the ground whilst hiding from Sauron had corrupted them, made them want to lie down and sleep. But sleeping now might end up being a sleep that they would not wake up from. They couldn't risk it.

The climbing turned to crawling, eventually, and every now and then, they did manage to lie down on their stomachs and backs. Only for a minute or so, just enough to regain the barest bit of strength that they could.

And then, finally, Frodo stopped crawling and could not move anymore.

Sam and Lucy did not attempt to shake him awake. Sam pulled Frodo onto his lap, and Lucy leaned against Sam's shoulder. She wanted so badly to sleep. Wanted so badly to fall asleep and wake up and find that she was back in her bed in London, with Susan sleeping soundly across from her. This war, the war back home, all a dream: Dad would be home, her brothers would be happy, and they would all live on normally.

But no.

A little voice in Lucy's head persisted: For the sake of normalcy, would she really give up the chance of knowing the people she now knew? Would she give up the friendships she'd made in Middle Earth just so she could be normal?  
She took her time examining the faces of Samwise the Brave and Frodo, the Ringbearer who carried the burden of this world on his shoulders, a burden he would allow no others to bear.

No. She wouldn't. She could never give up knowing them for normalcy.

"Do you remember the Shire, Mr. Frodo?" Sam whispered to Frodo. "Do you, Lucy?"  
"Oh yes," Lucy said, shutting her eyes and seeing the bright green foliage all around her. The orchard in which she'd met Frodo.

"It'll be spring soon. The orchards will be in blossom. And the birds will be nesting in the hazel thicket. They'll be sowing the summer barley in the lower fields, and eating the first of the strawberries with cream. Do you remember the taste of strawberries?"

Lucy grinned in a most silly fashion. How long had it been since she'd had a strawberry? Not since Bilbo's birthday party. There had been plenty of them there.

"They taste like sunshine." She said, uncertain as to why she'd chosen that particular comparison. Sam chuckled.

"That they do. Like a little piece of heaven."

"I… Don't recall." Frodo rasped, opening his eyes slightly. "I don't recall the taste of food. Nor the sound of water. Nor the touch of grass. I'm naked in the dark… There's nothing… No veil between me and the wheel of fire!" Frodo's eyes were widening feverishly, and he was shaking. His voice was starting to carry a note of hysteria. "I can see him with my waking eyes!"  
"We're here, Frodo," Lucy croaked, crying with no tears. "You're not alone in the dark. You're here with us."

"We must be rid of it!" Sam growled. "Come on, Mr. Frodo!" He shook his head, tears coming to his eyes. "I can't carry it for you, but I can carry _you!_"

And with that, Sam lifted Frodo and slung him over his shoulders, intending to carry him up the mountain. Now Lucy did cry, and she put her hands on Sam's back to help him keep his balance, pushing him up the rocky slope.

They were going to make it.

* * *

Funny story to lighten the mood: I was first typing this on the afternoon when I intended to get my Non-Driver's License, and then from there go to my math class. As I was writing the end of the chapter, my mom called me so that we could leave; I yelled back:

"_Mom!_ I'm in the middle of killing Frodo and eradicating all hope for the revival of Middle Earth! _GOD!_"

…

You see? This is what this story does to me.


	72. The Last Battle Begins

The ride out from Minas Tirith was eerily silent.

_Silent_ in this sense meaning that no one was talking. The clanking of armor and the stamping of the hooves of horses permeated the silence in a most unnerving way, a reminder to those in the march that they were likely heading to their deaths.

The Fellowship, along with Faramir, King Théoden and Eomer were riding up front. Each of the Pevensies was managing their own horse. Gimli sat behind Legolas, Merry behind Eomer, and Pippin sat in front of Gandalf. Edmund could see Pippin trembling. This was the first time that he would actually ride into battle.

Edmund was riding right next to Boromir. It was only through sheer determination and force of will that had gotten Boromir past the city limits that day; he was still very much recovering from his initial wounds, as was Faramir, but made it clear in no uncertain terms that he would be fighting with the army that day. No one was inclined to stand in his way.

Faramir, on the other hand, was forced to stay back by his brother. Edmund had it on good word that Faramir could be every bit the stubborn mule that Boromir was when he tried, and had no idea exactly how Boromir had managed it.

No, wait.

Maybe it had something to do with King Théoden's niece; she and Faramir seemed to be getting on quite well. Maybe he'd been comforted in the knowledge he'd be able to keep her company.

The march was at a relatively slow pace, and every slight annoyance was magnified. Peter's armor was heavy, and he felt it press on some of his exposed skin uncomfortably. The leather cinched around Susan's chest had seemed comfortable enough when she'd put it on earlier, but now it felt too tight. Edmund felt the weight of his sword dragging on his waist, and he constantly tugged at it, adjusted it.

The ride took about two hours. Each Pevensie kept their mind cautiously blank, save for one particular mantra:

_This is for Lucy._

The Black Gates were an ugly and foreboding sight, made of jagged, rusted black metal. Two small, seemingly unmanned sentry towers were positioned along the gate. There did not seem to be any orcs nearby. It was almost completely silent, save the general rumbling that seemed to constantly emit from the bowels of Mordor itself.

The army assembled in a large circle; it was comprised of both Gondorian and Rohan men, all bearing the emblems of their countries on armor and shields. Many held the flags of Gondor and Rohan high, and the banners blew in the wind. All of the men stared at the Black Gates with a mixture of fascination and horror. Mordor was the stuff of nightmares in this world: These men probably felt as though they were staring into the mouth of Hell itself.

Once everyone was assembled and all movement ceased, there was a two minute pause that was spent staring at the Gates. Nothing happened. "Where are they?" Pippin whispered, looking around.

"I don't know. Could this be a trap?" Peter whispered.

"Of course it is," Aragorn said coolly. "Our trap." He urged his horse forward. Without prompting, the rest of the Fellowship as well as Théoden and Eomer urged their horses along as well, all trotting up to the Black Gates, which seemed to grow taller and more ominous with every foot covered.

They stopped about fifteen yards from the gates, all in one, long line. Aragorn looked to the top of the gates, though no one was there, and called, "Let the Lord of theBlackLandcome forth! Let justice be done upon him!"

For one, long moment, there was no noise. Nothing.

And then, just barely, a rumble sounded, following by a slight shaking of the ground.

The Black Gates were opening.

"Should we move back a bit?" Peter whispered.

"Not an inch." Aragorn said firmly.

Indeed, it wasn't necessary to move back; the gates opened just a sliver; just enough for a horseman dressed all in black to worm his way through.

The poor horse didn't look like it was in the best of shape, particularly in comparison to the Rohan horses. It was covered in more of that rusted, sharp and uncomfortable looking armor that most of the followers of Mordor seemed to love so much. The horse seemed to be displeased with its rider, twisting its head and neck irritably and make small noise of discomfort.

The rider itself- He had to be an orc. The only part of his face that was visible was his chin and his mouth, the latter of which was filled with long, sharp, yellowing teeth. Just below his lip was a very obvious tear in the skin. The helmet that covered his eyes and nose was made of bent metal plates that bore writing in a strange alphabet. The helmet had three sharp prongs jutting from the top. A black cloak covered all the rest of his body.

The horseman stopped. "My master, Sauron the Great, bids thee welcome." He said in a rough, eerie voice made even eerier by the very toothy smile he flashed them, displaying each and every one of his rotted teeth. Peter chanced a glance at Aragorn, who was eyeing the orc with obvious disgust. Everyone seemed to be.

When he received no response to his words, the orc frowned and turned his head about, as though looking around. Could he somehow see them under the helmet? "Is there any in this rout with authority to treat with me?"

"We do not come to _treat_ with Sauron, faithless and accursed." Gandalf said in a truly powerful and commanding voice. At the first syllable of his words, the orc's head snapped in Gandalf's direction. Maybe he couldn't see them- All he could go off of was voice. He bared his teeth at the wizard. "Tell your master this: The armies of Mordor must disband. He is to depart these lands, never to return."

The orc stared at Gandalf for a moment; and then he laughed. He nodded to Gandalf mockingly, patronizingly. "Old _Greybeard_." He sneered. Suddenly, his mouth opened wide in a gasp, as though he'd just had an epiphany. "Ah! I have a few tokens I was bidden to show thee." He almost giggled the words.

He reached down into his lap and withdrew two items that made everyone from the Fellowship freeze.

One was a shiny white shirt comprised of Mithril rings.

Another was a tiny cordial full of burgundy liquid that gleamed in the light.

Frodo and Lucy.

Susan let out a weak noise.

"Frodo," Pippin whispered. The orc tossed the items to Gandalf, who caught them, silent and stunned, and examined them in his hands. "Frodo!"

"_Lucy!_" Peter's voice was ragged, close to tears. The orc started to laugh at the sound of their agony.

"Silence," Gandalf commanded.

"No!" Merry cried. The orc's head turned to face him.

"_Silence!_" Gandalf gasped again. The orc grinned another horrific grin at them.

"The Halfling and the girl-child were dear to thee, I see. Know that they suffered greatly at the hands of their host. Who would have thought that one so small could endure so much _pain?_" The orc was enjoying their misery.

Lucy was dead. Lucy was dead, and she had suffered greatly. They'd held out hope for all of this time that the smallest of their number would be able to push through the hardships and come out on top, but it seemed that this was not the case.

Lucy. Little red-haired, big-doe-eyed freckle-faced Lucy, who'd cried for their mother during the air raids and wailed when their father had left. Lucy that had fallen into a deep depression after leavingLondon, and yet in spite of everything never really got angry or lost her temper.

Lucy who bounced back from everything and managed a smile and a kind word every now and then. Lucy who offered her squeaky toy dog to Edmund on the train to make him smile. Lucy who suggested they play hide and seek on a rainy day to keep themselves occupied and save them from Susan's 'guess-the-origin-of-the-word-from-the-dictionary' game.

Lucy who attacked the Nazgul in the forest and saved her brother, then hid herself during Elrond's Council and forced herself into the Fellowship of the Ring along with the other Hobbits, all so that she could stand by her newest and most dear friend that she cared and worried so deeply for…

Peter was gritting his teeth and trying to resist the urge to either throw up or charge at the orc and cut his head off. Susan was covering her eyes and trying not to weep. Edmund looked very, very close to being sick. Gandalf slowly reached over to Peter and handed him Lucy's cordial; he accepted it and clutched onto it with an iron grip, glaring viciously at the orc, tears in his eyes.

"And they did, Gandalf. They did." Gandalf's eyes were wet, and that seemed to be the last straw for Aragorn. He slowly urged his horse forward, moving up to the orc at a leisurely pace. The orc turned to him. "And who is this? Isildur's Heir? It takes more to make a king than a broken Elvish blade-"

Just as Aragorn drew equal with the orc, he ripped out the 'broken Elvish blade' and, with a scream, decapitated the orc with a single slash.

Peter felt a grim thrill of satisfaction. Susan was still consumed with thoughts of Lucy and barely registered it. Edmund saw the head fall and only barely managed to hold back his already formidable nausea. Everyone as a whole was taken aback by the action- Though Gimli seemed more on the amused side.

"I guess that concludes negotiations." He muttered as Aragorn rode back, looking fierce.

"I do not believe it!" He declared ferociously. "I _will_ not!"

Peter exchanged a bleary stare with his siblings. Could they forgo the evidence presented to them and believe, really believe that their baby sister was alive somewhere in Mordor with Sam and Frodo at her side?

It was difficult.

The Black Gates started to push open wider, and this time, the sound of hundreds upon thousands of marching orcs could be heard on the other side. They could see them approaching through the widening crack.

"Aragorn," Théoden called. "We need to pull back! Now!"

"Right!" They urged their horses around and rode back to the troops. Susan wiped her eyes with her wrist, lagging behind the others as she tried to direct the horse and clear her vision at the same time. Legolas and Gimli lingered a bit for her. "Dry your eyes, Susan," Gimli growled as she caught up with them. "If some harm has befallen your sister, you'll have your payment in blood soon enough."  
Susan nodded, though this was not entirely comforting. No amount of orc blood could even _begin_ to make up for what her baby sister was worth.

The assembled soldiers, all of whom looked more than a little shaken at the sight of the approaching enemy force, twitched nervously in their armor. "_Hold your ground!_ Hold your ground!" Aragorn bellowed as he brought his horse to canter back and forth before them. "Sons of Gondor! Of Rohan! My brothers!"

Aragorn looked into the faces of each soldier. "I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me! A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends, and break all bonds of fellowship. But it is not this day! An hour of wolves, of shattered shields when the age of men comes crashing down. _But it is not this day!_ This day, we fight! By all you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you _stand! Men of the West!_"

Aragorn turned and raised his sword towards Mordor. Théoden, next to Peter, was grinning. "He will make a fine king." He said to the blonde. "And I will be honored to call him my ally." Peter nodded slowly, transfixed on Aragorn's proud form and the courage he projected.

"That he will." He whispered.

The sound of swords being unsheathed and shields clanking together as they were raised echoed against the sounds of the marching orcs. Everyone dismounted their horses, more content with fighting on the ground, level with their enemies and equal with their comrades in arms.

As the orcs surrounded the army of men, Peter looked at Susan and Edmund, and they looked back. "Ed," He said. "I'm sorry for pushing you around back home. I shouldn't have. You're my brother, not my son." Edmund looked shocked at this apology. Partially because he hadn't been expecting it, partially because it was unwarranted.

"I was being a little prat." Edmund responded, nervously flicking his eyes away from his brother's. "You were right. I needed to be bossed around a bit." Susan shook her head, bewildered.

"It really is the end of the world." She whispered, and her brothers grinned. She looked between them.

"I believe," Susan said. "That Lucy is alive. And I'll go right on believing that until I'm given concrete proof to the contrary."

_Like a body_. The words lingered in the air, but remained unspoken.

Peter nodded. "I believe it too."  
"And me. Frodo and Sam have probably taken good care of her. She's fine." He did everything in his power to force himself to believe that. "Are you ready?" His big brother and sister nodded.

"Ready."  
"Right."

The army was surrounded.

Aragorn stepped forward. His sword, previously at the ready, swung down to his side. He was staring ahead, into Mordor, at a tall, dark tower with a glowing red orb atop it. He stared for a good, long minute. And then he turned back to face them.

Each and every person stared at him.

But Aragorn's next whispered words were for the Fellowship only:

"_For Frodo._"

And with that, he raised his sword and took off, charging alone at the army ahead. Pippin and Merry were the first to follow after, roaring their own battle cries, followed by Peter, then Susan, then Edmund, and then everyone else, screaming out as they held their weapons high. Together, they plunged into the sea of orcs.

And thus, the final battle for Middle Earth began.

* * *

I've got to say: Aragorn's speech here and Sam's speech in the Two Towers have always been and always will be my two absolute, most favorite motivational-speeches of all time. Sean Astin and Viggo Mortensen really knew what they were doing.


	73. The War is Won

AAAAAAAAAAGH-

SCHOOL MELTS MY BRAIN.

...OKAY, and Supernatural has taken up a great deal of my time, as any and all of you who have me Author Alerted have seen. Unfortunately for this story, I don't see that particular obsession dying down any time soon (Not with the Season Premiere a mere two weeks away), but I promise that I _am_ going to do everything I can in order to push through and finish the rest of the story ASAP. Not much left anyway. :D

OH: And I found out what that little formatting SNAFU was: HTML was to blame. Uploading documents as simple Word Documents cut out the lack of quotes. The next... Two or three chapters are saved as HTML, though, so if you see any little typos, IN PARTICULAR the names of places (For instance, Mount Doom turned up as ) it's NOT MY FAULT. I know how to use a spacebar.

(Between and Livejournal's formatting issues I think I might rip my hair out).

()()

The battle raged harder and stronger than any battle they'd fought before. Everyone seemed to know that this was the last fight, the last chance at victory, the big difference between a world of Sauron's and a world of free people. This was the deciding battle; this would make all the other losses in the terrible conflict worth it.

Peter was heartened. Though he couldn't exactly spare a lot of attention to take count, he did not see any soldiers of theirs sustain fatal injury that he could see. He himself had not received any particularly worrisome injuries.

Peter, Susan and Edmund remained close to each other at all times. And if one of them started to stray away, they made sure they were close to a member of the Fellowship, or King Théoden or Eomer. Susan was fighting with a ferocity that Peter had yet to see from her thus far, and Edmund was wielding his sword with stunning skill.

He couldn't help but notice that Legolas and Gimli were not counting their kills. This suggested that they were either too concerned with keeping their necks, or the news that Frodo, Sam and Lucy could be dead had sobered them both in a way that prevented them from lightening the mood in their own, strange way.

Boromir was wielding both his sword and dagger, in his right and left hand, with his shield still strapped to his left arm. It seemed he was trying to compensate for the weakness his injuries foisted on him, killing with both hands whilst still managing to defend himself. He had a nasty cut on his head, but other than that, Peter saw no reason to worry.

Merry and Pippin were no cause for concern either. They were so small that they seemed to pass just below the vision of most of the orcs; once, Peter was fairly certain that he saw on trip over Pippin, giving the little Hobbit a chance to turn and stab the creature in the back with a hearty battle cry.

Gandalf, naturally, was faring just fine on his own, staff in one hand and sword in the other. He stuck out quite nicely in the crowd. Nothing short of a collapsing bridge and a battle with a Balrog could kill him. Peter was starting to suspect that Gandalf was more than just a wizard, and perhaps had some divine attributes; Peter had never asked, and he knew he would have to if they lived past this battle.

Aragorn was a figure of magnificence. He hadn't been so much as scratched in the battle, and was smiting enemies left and right, never pausing. Were he not consumed with his own fights, Peter might have stopped to watch, slack-jawed. Aragorn would make a fantastic king indeed.

"_SCWEEEEEEEAAH!_"

An ear-splitting screech echoed from above like millions of nails grating on one giant blackboard, and both human and orc alike recoiled in pain from the sheer grating quality of the noise. The fell-beasts, with their Nazgul riders astride their backs, came swooping down from the sky, scanning the crowd for victims.

Peter was distracted by the beasts' untimely arrival, and came within an inch of losing his head to the orc he'd been battling. Fortunately, Susan had his back.

"_Not my brother, scum!_" She shrieked, cutting him down.

"Thanks- Watch out for the-!"

The fell-beasts began to descend, claws outstretched, when suddenly, another massive set of winged figures tackled them in midair and drove them back. Peter and Susan, along with dozens of others, watched as a swarm of gigantic eagles descended from the clouds and began to attack the fell-beasts, snatching them with razor-sharp talons and tearing them apart with their beaks.

"The eagles!" They heard Pippin cheer. The fell-beasts stood no chance against the magnificent, mahogany-feathered birds, who needed no rider to tell them what to do and where to go. The eagles were their own warriors.

The battle raged on after that, without the added threat of the fell-beasts and the Nazgul to add to their worries. There was no end in the long tide of orcs, and Peter was suddenly quite certain that if they weren't cut down, they would all drop from exhaustion at one point or another.

Without warning, something hard and heavy slammed into Peter's back, and he went toppling to the ground, thoroughly winded and stunned.  
"_Peter!_" He heard Aragorn's shout faintly just over the unearthly roar from above his head. What Peter was not aware of was that a very large, very ugly armor-clad troll was standing over him. Peter had been hit in the back by the flat of its blade, and was seconds away from having his skull crushed by it as well.

Aragorn dove in, engaging the troll in battle as Peter tried desperately to crawl far enough away so that he could stand up once more and lend his aid. Others cleared the way as Aragorn and the troll fought, and Peter forced himself onto his knees. He stabbed his sword into the ground and used it to boost himself up before spinning around, ignoring the pain in his back and torso.

He stabbed at an exposed spot on the troll's side as Aragorn parried the monster's blow, and ended up throwing himself to the ground once more in order to avoid the backhand swing that the troll aimed at him. Aragorn moved to dodge around the troll's arm and help his young companion only to be caught by a swift blow from above and was knocked heavily to the ground.

Aragorn rolled and tried to get to his feet only for the troll to bring its foot down and pin him to the ground. "NO!" Peter slashed and then stabbed the leg nearest to him, trying to make it stumble and back off. For his trouble, Peter nearly met his end at the business end of the spiked mace in the troll's left hand.

Aragorn was trapped, and Peter was of no help. Nearby, Edmund saw his brother's predicament and cried out. He slashed the neck of the nearest orc before turning and trying to cut his way through the crowd, needing to get to his brother before the troll could kill him, because he was pretty certain that the liquid in Lucy's cordial couldn't cure a crushed skull-

Aragorn squirmed as the troll raised its mace once more, its beady red eyes glaring down with uncontained malice at Isildur's Heir.

"_Aragorn!_" Peter screamed.

Aragorn winced as the mace started to fall.

_EEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH-_

A screech far more ear-splitting than that of the fell-beasts' split the air, and the troll turned around, unintentionally releasing Aragorn from his hold. Everyone turned as one to face the black lands of Mordor, and all witnessed as the Eye of Sauron began to shake and pulse in a most unstable manner.

Though it was all only incoherent howling to the army of men, the orcs seemed to be frozen in fear. The troll that had nearly killed Aragorn actually turned back and began to run _away_ from Mordor, a path clearing before him as man and orc alike scrambled to get out of the way. "Peter!" Aragorn seized Peter by the arm and dragged him up just as Edmund and Legolas reached the pair.

Grey-black clouds swirled over the Great Eye as it shuddered and wailed. And then- And then- with a great thundering noise, the tower of Barad-dur began to crumble, Sauron's eye falling to the right as it toppled.

No one spoke. No one could process words or emotions: All were consumed with the fall of Sauron, with the exception of the orcs, who were frantically retreating away from Mordor and towards the remainder of the Pelennor Fields.

The tower the Eye was perched atop seemed to fall in slow motion. The Eye itself grew smaller and smaller and smaller, until finally, when it was half way to the ground, it exploded, sending a shockwave across Mordor and towards the armies.

The Dark Lord Sauron was defeated.

Peter felt red-hot emotion charge up his throat and explode into his eyes, tears streaming down his face. Susan started to shriek, jumping up and down in a way he hadn't seen her do since she was younger than Lucy. Edmund raised his arms above his head, whooping and hollering.

"_FRODO!_" Merry cheered, his sword raised jubilantly towards the destroyed tower. "_FRODO!_"

The orcs still in Mordor fled, terrified, as the ground crack and crumbled in their wake, collapsing in on itself. Those who did not run fast enough- and there were many- were swallowed into the abyss that Mordor was rapidly becoming. Even the ground outside of the Black Gates began to shatter as well, though- miraculously enough- the ground on which the army of men stood remained firm and strong.

A moment later, the massive volcano, Mount Doom, erupted in an impressive display, shooting lava and rock into the air and making the ground shake with the force of a grand earthquake.

Mount Doom.

Each member of the Fellowship, all in the midst of their own celebrations, came to the same earth-shattering conclusion all at once.

MountDoomwas where Frodo, Sam and Lucy had been heading, where they were supposed to throw the Ring.

And Mount Doom was exploding.

There could be no question about their fate now.

Susan pressed her left hand over her mouth, and sought out Peter's hand with her right. Edmund seized Peter's left.

_Lucy_.

They had won the war.

But they had lost something immeasurably precious in return.

()()

...

...I _swear_ I was not trying to do a repeat of Molly Weasley's infamous line against Bellatrix in The Deathly Hallows with Susan up there.


	74. The End of All Things

Together, after a long climb, they'd made it:

Sam, carrying Frodo, and Lucy, supporting them from behind, were now at the entrance to the volcano. Here, they could walk inside and toss the Ring into the fiery abyss below and end all of the madness.

Lucy let out a laugh in spite of the dire circumstances and the unhappy future that was projected for them. "We made it!" She cried, delighted. "We made it! We're here!"

"Just a little further," Sam whispered. "Only a few more steps, and we'll be done." He seemed to be in a state of disbelief that it could be and _was_ finally over.

_Months_ of journeying; _months_ of trekking and fighting and desperation and hopelessness and pushing through every obstacle that had jumped into their path, and they were here. The Nazgul couldn't reach them, nor could the orcs or the Uruk-Hai. Sauron himself couldn't stop them now!

But someone could.

"_Clever Hobbits, to climb so **high!**_"

Lucy screamed.

Gollum leapt from a stone above them, tackling Frodo and Sam to the ground. She whipped out the dagger, still on the belt around her waist (Evidently, the orcs had not deemed it important or impressive enough to take), but then froze as she watched Sam tussle with Gollum. How could she attack? She might hit Sam or Frodo on accident!

Gollum tore Frodo away from Sam and started to choke him. Lucy slammed the dagger back into the sheath and jumped on Gollum's back, wrapping her arms around his neck from behind and trying to likewise choke him.

But Lucy forgot about Gollum's limb-length, and he quickly jerked upward and backward, dragging Frodo with him, as he backed up and slammed Lucy into the rock behind them. Lucy's arms slipped from his neck as she was winded.

"Mustn't go that way! Mustn't hurt the _precious!_"

"You swore!" Frodo gasped raggedly. "You swore on the precious! Sméagol swore!" Lucy sat up and tried to regain her bearings as she heard Gollum respond:

"Sméagol _lied_."

Without warning, Gollum cried out and fell away as a large, black blur collided with his head. Sam had grabbed the largest stone he could find and had chucked it at Gollum's head. As Gollum regained his bearings and came back for another round, Sam tackled him back.

"Get him inside! _Get him inside!_" Lucy ran to Frodo and helped him up, still gasping in pain from hitting the hard stone. She helped him to his feet, wincing.

"Come on, come on! Sam's buying us time, but we have to-" She coughed painfully as she pulled Frodo up and started to help him up along the remainder of the staircase. Frodo struggled, face blank, legs uncooperative. It was such a remarkably short distance, but with the sounds of the struggle behind them and the urgency that had brought them to this point, Lucy felt as though the walk lasted hours.

The doorway into the volcano was tall and framed in- you guessed it- jagged black, rusted metal that gave the door a thoroughly wicked appearance. An ominous, fiery light burned inside, and accompanying it was a blast of unfathomable heat that brought Lucy up short. But as she slid to a stop, Frodo kept going, stumbling along uninhibited past the doorway into the interior of Mount Doom.

Lucy stood in awe of the mountain, and then gasped when it shook and shuddered. She stared up as far as she could, and could see streams of lava creeping down the sides. None of it seemed to be heading directly their way, but it was close enough to severely unnerve her.

A hand on her shoulder made Lucy jump, and relief could no adequately describe her words when she saw that it was Sam. "He's gone inside!" She cried. Wordlessly, Sam entered the mountain as well, and Lucy could do nothing but follow in spite of the blistering heat and the terror that the mountain would come tumbling down around their heads.

The interior of the volcano was smoky and so, so hot that Lucy couldn't breathe right. The path led out into a long, narrow strip that jutted over the long drop into the lava. Frodo stood at the very end of that path, the Ring in his hand. The smoke billowed around him, scorching wind blowing his hair about.

"I'm here," He said, raising his voice over the churning lava and the rumbling of the volcano. "I'm here."

Sam and Lucy stopped. There was something strange about Frodo's eyes. But Sam cried out, "Destroy it!" Frodo held up the Ring by the chain it was fastened on, and held it at arm's length from his face.

"Go on, Frodo!" Lucy called. "You can do it! Just throw it away! Be done with it and we can go home!"

"Throw it in the fire!"

For over a minute, Frodo held the Ring away, oh goodness he was so close, _so close to destroying the Ring!_

"What are you waiting for?" Sam screamed helplessly. "Just let it go!"

Frodo turned back to them. His face was dark.

He was still holding the Ring.

"Frodo?" Lucy called weakly.

"The Ring is mine."

Lucy didn't have time to cry out before Frodo tore the Ring from the chain and held it to his chest. He brought his left hand up, ready to slide the Ring onto his finger and disappear, just as Bilbo had done at the birthday party an eternity ago-

"No, no!" Sam shouted.

"Frodo, please!" Lucy sobbed.

But Frodo just smiled a terribly unbalanced smile and jammed his index finger into the tiny gold ring and disappeared into thin air.

"_No!_"

Lucy saw movement on the ground, displacements in the red dirt of the path, and came to the realization that it was Frodo- he had become invisible, but not intangible. His footprints were just barely visible through the haze of smog around them.

"Frodo? Frodo, where are you?" Lucy cried, her tears burning her cheeks. "Frodo, please!"

"_Augh!_"

Sam fell to the ground. For one horrible moment, Lucy thought that it might have been Frodo that had cut him down, but she screamed out her fright when she saw that it was Gollum. He'd crept up behind Sam with a rock in hand, and had used it to club the blonde Hobbit on the back of the head.

Lucy moved back and cried out once more when she nearly lost her balance and fell over the edge of the narrow bridge. But Gollum was not concerned with her, oh no. She posed no threat. It was Frodo he was after, and though he could not see him, he knew Frodo was there, merely using the precious to hide.

He leapt forward and landed on Frodo, who cried out; Gollum appeared to be floating in midair, but Lucy knew that he was much more likely to be holding onto Frodo's shoulders. Unable to tear her eyes away, she watched as they wrestled even as she knelt down to rouse Sam.

"Sam, Sam! Get up! It's Gollum!" Sam stirred weakly. Lucy glanced down at him, then back at Gollum and Frodo, and then let out a shriek. "_Sam! He's going to fall over!_" Frodo and Gollum were dangerously close to the end of the path and getting closer. Sam seemed to her hear, seemed to process the words, and began struggling and forcing himself to get up.

"Wha… Wha… Lu…cy…"

"_AUCKAG!_"

Both stared in shock and horror as a now very visible Frodo howled in pain. Gollum was, indeed, holding onto his shoulders, and in his mouth-

In his mouth-

Lucy felt bile rise sharply in her throat, and she slapped a hand over her mouth and tried to force it back down. In his effort to retrieve the precious, Gollum had actually bitten off Frodo's finger. As said finger was no longer attached to Frodo's body, the Ring's effect over his body was also gone.

Frodo fell to his knees, clutching his bleeding hand, and Gollum let out a triumphant, scratchy yowl, dancing about with glee. "_Precious! Precious!_" Gollum shouted merrily, holding the Ring up above his head and watching the way the gold reflected the light from the fire.

Sam and Lucy both stared in silent shock, uncertain of what to do next. This was not exactly a place to wage war against Gollum; one false move and they'd be pitched into the lava. Frodo, however, after laying in mute agony for a moment as he processed the fact that he'd lost a finger to the Ring-obsessed maniac, finally found one effective way to deal with Gollum.

He stumbled to his feet and hobbled over to Gollum, who paid no mind to the Hobbit, so consumed was he in his celebratory jig. Frodo grabbed Gollum's hand and tried to force the Ring away, and Sam and Lucy watched helplessly, uncertain of who they wanted to win: If Frodo won, he might take the Ring and run away. But Gollum? Gollum might actually try to kill them.

It was after almost a minute's worth of struggling that Lucy's worst fears came to fruition: Frodo and Gollum toppled over the edge of the cliff. Lucy and Sam both screamed at the same time and leapt to their feet, charging over to the end of the cliff and looking over.

By some sort of miracle- Lucy's heart nearly stopped- Frodo was there. He had managed to catch a hold a few feet down, clutching it with his uninjured hand. "Hang on, Frodo!"

"Give me your hand!" Sam called. Frodo didn't move. Sam reached as far as he could. "Take my hand!"  
Frodo reached up and tried, oh did he try, but his left hand, now minus one finger, slipped away. He stared down at the lava, and then looked back up at them helplessly. "_Don't even think about it, Frodo!_" Lucy cried, also reaching down as far as she could and adding her hand to Sam's.

"Don't you let go!" Sam ordered. "Don't let go. Please! _Reach!_"

And Frodo did. He bit his lip, took a deep breath, and swung his left hand up. Sam caught it, and Lucy grabbed onto Frodo's arm as well to secure him. Together they hauled Frodo up and over the edge, onto solid ground.

"Solid" in this sense meaning "shaking very badly and soon to become _un_solid".

Lucy saw large cracks appearing in the stone beneath their feet and lava rising at an alarming rate from below, and she began to pull wildly, insistently on Frodo and Sam's arms. "We have to go!" She screamed, hair whipping around her face, sweat pouring down her neck from the heat.

Together the three got to their feet and hastened down the trembling walkway. Lucy heard it moan and shatter behind them. Once they reached the door, Lucy felt a sharp contrast between temperatures; Mordor was hot and stuffy on its own, but being in Mount Doom had made it far worse. For a moment, her body was tricked into believing that she'd just emerged into cool, fresh air.

A torrent of lava chased them from the doorway, and they had no choice but to leap off from the ground and take shelter on a nearby outcropping of rock. It stood alone, and the molten magma could no longer reach them erupting with a vengeance, spraying fire and ash as well as streams of lava into the thick air. From where they stood, they could see Mordor coming apart at the seams as well.

"It's gone," Frodo whispered, shell-shocked. His expressions seemed to be torn between disbelief and horror. "It's done." Sam, next to him, was panting.

"Yes, Mr. Frodo," He said. "It's over now."

"Everyone'll be safe," Lucy murmured, already feeling the weight of fatigue, hunger and dehydration beating down on her like never before. "We've saved them from Sauron." She sank down to sit between the Hobbits, and they slowly joined her. From there, over a span of about three minutes, they laid back wearily. Frodo's head fell back on the rock, and Lucy started. Had he passed out?

No. Oh no. Frodo was still very much awake.

And he was _smiling_.

"I can see the Shire," He whispered joyfully. "The Brandywine River. Bag End." He outright grinned. "Gandalf's fireworks. The lights in the Party Tree…" Sam shook his head with a sigh.

"Rosie Cotton dancing. She had ribbons in her hair." He gave another, shuddery sigh, his eyes watering. "If ever I was to marry someone, it would have been her!"

And absurdly enough, when Lucy recalled the best of her memories of Bilbo's party, she remembered- of all things- when Frodo had shoved Sam into dancing with a young, red haired Hobbit-lass. He had called her Rosie. Without thinking, she laughed out loud, and then shut her eyes as well.

She remembered the rainy day in the study. She remembered Susan and that utterly boring game, picking random words from the dictionary and guessing their language of origin. She remembered Edmund lying under a chair and picking at some loose threads on the seat, only his legs visible from above. Peter had been slouched in the chair. Lucy had been at the window.

Lucy had stared at the rain and thought ofLondon. She'd thought of her mother back home, and her father off at war. She'd thought about the endless weeks they would spend that summer in that old house with that old and mysterious professor and that unbelievably cranky Mrs. Macready.

She'd wondered how things could ever possibly get better when they were just so _bad_.

And then she'd suggested hide and seek. She'd wandered over to Peter, the ultimate authority under the adults, and had widened her eyes and asked so sweetly if they could, and he'd buckled, just like she knew he would. Susan had rolled her eyes and Edmund had whined, but they'd done it.

The story from there was so exhausting to even think of.

Where were they now, her brothers and sister? Were they safe? Happy? What had they done all these long months? Had Faramir found them? Had he given them the liquid from her cordial? Or was he still fighting in Osgiliath with the Rangers and the Gondorian soldiers, trying to hold back the orcs?

Where was the rest of the Fellowship? They would never have just sat still and waited things out after she, Sam and Frodo had taken off. Was Aragorn still leading? Was Boromir still trying to lead them to Minas Tirith? Were Legolas and Gimli still arguing? Were Merry and Pippin smoking away their worries? Lucy was comforted. Wherever they were, whatever they were doing, she knew Peter, Susan and Edmund were with them, and they would be safe with their friends.

She was crying now, though, and she thought maybe she was just tired, because she was happy in the knowledge that her family was safe. Frodo and Sam were crying as well, but she couldn't be certain if they were doing it for the same reasons as her. Frodo sat up again and drew Sam and Lucy close, his arms wrapping around their shoulders.

Lucy looked into Frodo's eyes and started to weep far harder than before, but not from sadness; when she looked into Frodo's eyes, she wept with joy because she saw within those eyes that same Hobbit she'd met on a sunny afternoon in the Shire so many months before during her first trip through the wardrobe in the spare room.

"I'm glad to be with you, Samwise Gamgee, and you, Lucy Pevensie, here at the end of all things."

Lucy managed a watery smile. "I'm glad to be with you both as well." She croaked.

And as she sat there in the embrace of her dear friends, Lucy gradually let darkness take her.


	75. Reunited

Lucy awoke to brightness.

It was so bright that she was, at first, quite certain that she was dead and had gone to heaven. No place in Mordor could be this bright, and that was the last place she remembered being.

And this place was soft. Soft and warm. She was in a bed; a real bed, with sheets and a pillow. How long had it been since she'd been in a real bed? And how long had it been since she'd seen real light?

Maybe that was the problem. Maybe it wasn't as bright as it seemed; maybe she had just gone so long without light that she was sensitive to it now.

"Are you awake?"

Lucy sat up straight in the bed, and suddenly the dreamy state of awakening she'd been in snapped away. She was awake, and alive, and everything was real. The room's walls were cream colored with accents of silver, and had two windows, both open and allowing a warm breeze to enter. Her bed was covered in sky-blue and white sheets. Her dagger and cordial were on the table beside the bed.

And standing across from her bed was none other than Faramir, Boromir's brother, the Ranger she'd encountered in Ithilien and had last seen in Osgiliath. His large blue eyes were bright.

Lucy blinked owlishly at him. He was grinning widely at her. "Where am I?"

"You're in Minas Tirith, my home city and the capital of Gondor." He walked around to the left side of the bed and sat down on the edge. "You gave us quite a scare- you and your friends both." Faramir said nothing after that, and Lucy quickly realized that he was waiting for her to ask more questions.

"Sam and Frodo- Where are they?"

"Asleep in their own rooms. Frodo seems to be the most exhausted of you, and so he will probably sleep the longest. But you will all be fine."

"And Peter, Susan and Edmund- Are they all right? Are they here?" Faramir chuckled.

"They're outside. We've spent the better part of the morning keeping them distracted whilst you, Frodo and Samwise were being treated. They would have wanted to stay in here, by your side, but we didn't want them to suffocate you."

"They would." Lucy said this with such an earnest expression that Faramir had to laugh.

"That was what we thought. Have you any more questions?"

Lucy thought for a moment, biting her lip. It felt as though she should have millions upon millions of questions for him, but found that she had none. Many questions she had could only be answered by her siblings and the Fellowship- Such as, "What happened after we left? What did I miss?"

Lucy could, however, think of one question that Faramir could most certainly answer.

"Did we win?"

Faramir smiled and nodded. "Indeed we did."

A grin exploded onto Lucy's face, stretching her mouth and burning her cheeks because God knew she hadn't smiled like this in _so_ long, and she threw her arms around Faramir's neck jubilantly. "We won! We won!" She sang. When she pulled back, Faramir gave her a very serious expression.

"Now Lucy- I must ask- do you think-" Lucy leaned forward in anticipation. "-That you're ready-" Lucy's mouth tightened into a line of frustration, and Faramir smirked. "-_to_-" When he stopped again, Lucy made a noise of significant frustration.

"What? What? Am I ready to _what?_"

"I believe he was going to inquire if you might like to see your siblings again- Shame on you, Faramir, for teasing her so." A light, deep and oh so stunningly familiar voice said from the doorway.

Lucy turned to look over Faramir's shoulder.

Standing in the door way, dressed in long, pure white robes, holding a long, smooth white staff, was none other than Gandalf.

Gandalf.

Gandalf who had _fallen in Moria_.

Lucy sat for a full minute, simply staring as Gandalf smiled at her.

She'd survived Mordor with Sam and Frodo. She'd returned to the land of people, of life. All of that was shocking enough by itself. But now Gandalf was back from the dead?

"…Gandalf?"

Gandalf nodded slowly, smile widening slightly. "It has been quite a time since we've last spoken, hasn't it, Lucy?"

Lucy couldn't hold it back. She burst into tears and leapt out of the bed, running over to the wizard and throwing her arms around him. Gandalf knelt down to her height and returned the hug, sighing.

"I am so _relieved_ to see you alive and well, Lucy."

"…Y-You t-t-too!"

Lucy pulled back, fully aware of the tears streaming down her face. She looked Gandalf up and down, taking in every inch of his new and improved appearance. "You've dyed your hair!" She exclaimed, touching his now tamed white beard with awe. Gandalf's laugh was so wonderful to the ear, deep and musical.

"In a sense," He acknowledged. "I am now called 'Gandalf the White'."

"How on _earth_ did you- I mean- The _Balrog_-"

Faramir's eyes widened. "Balrog? A _Balrog _of _Morgoth?_ What _else_ about this journey of yours has my brother seen fit to _not_ share?" Lucy and Gandalf both chuckled merrily at this.

"A great deal, it would seem. He does-" Suddenly the door, which was already partially open from Gandalf's arrival, opened the rest of the way.

"Faramir, I-" A tall, blonde woman had entered the room, evidently having heard Faramir's voice, and blushed when she saw that he was not the only occupant of the room. "My apologies, I should not have simply barged in."

"It is no trouble, dear lady." Gandalf said, inclining his head to her. He turned to Lucy. "Lucy, this is Lady Éowyn of Rohan. She has become a good friend of your brothers and sister, if I've heard correctly." Éowyn's eyes widened, and she too adopted a kind smile not unlike Faramir's.

"You are Lucy, then! I've longed to meet this last Pevensie of whom I've heard so much about." To Lucy's surprise, Éowyn's eyes shown with a large amount of admiration and pride, and she blushed at the silent praise she sensed she was receiving. Faramir regarded Éowyn like one might regard a truly moving piece of artwork. When it became apparent that he lacked the ability to elaborate on the situation, Gandalf rolled his eyes.

"We were just about to escort young Lucy down to her siblings, Lady Éowyn. Would you like to join us?"

"Oh, certainly. I'll warn you though, they're quite frustrated at this point. I imagine they're confused as to why everyone's been giving them such silly grins and keeping them in one place all morning. When I passed my brother in the hall not so long ago, he said that Peter was starting to threaten violence if not given answers, and quickly."

"Good _Lord_ that boy is stubborn. Come along now, Lucy, before your brother commits murder."

As they left the room and trekked through the airy, beautiful stone corridors, Lucy could see many people in the halls and- curiously enough- they all, in turn, stopped to stare at her! They looked at her like she was one of the strangest creatures they'd ever seen, and Lucy was somewhat unnerved by the attention she received.

"Why is everyone staring at me?" She whispered. Faramir smiled.

"They know of the deed you, Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee accomplished." His eyes flashed with a strange mixture of pride and mirth. "Lucy Pevensie," He whispered.

"You are a hero."

()()

Twenty-three hours, thirty minutes and fifteen seconds.

It had been that long since the last great battle for Middle Earth had ended, and the Pevensies world had shattered beneath them. Lucy, the youngest of their quartet, was dead. Gone.

Consumed with grief, the Pevensies had spent the rest of the afternoon helping injured soldiers hobble back to the city. They spoke to no one. Aragorn and the others offered them kind words, but they didn't hear them. All they could think about was how Lucy was gone, and that they would never see her face, never hear her chirping voice or happy skip coming down the hall again.

When they woke the next morning, the Fellowship was no longer sad, and they knew immediately that something was going on. "What is it?" Susan rasped, her voice exhausted from grief and sleep. She and her brothers had all curled together that night before and tried to comfort one another.

"Take heart, Susan," Aragorn said, his eyes bright. "All will reveal itself in due course." Susan and her brothers had stared at each other, shocked. What was happening? Dared they hope-? Could they-?

Peter, Susan and Edmund had all seen the volcano collapse. Ergo, they were very aware that Lucy was dead and could not and would not return to them. There was no hope for it now. Reality had to be faced.

All that morning they waited, Legolas, Gimli, Boromir, Merry, Pippin and Eomer keeping them in the citadel courtyard. "Shall we joust? Perhaps practice our aim?" Legolas had suggested lightly, a truly silly grin on his face that made him look like a child. The three oldest Pevensie children had been shocked, even unnerved by this behavior.

"What on _earth_ is everyone so happy about?" Edmund had squawked. Their merry captors would give them no answer, though, and spent the better part of the two hours in that yard trying to make sure that the Pevensies stayed put. They would answer no questions.

When Peter finally made a convincing threat involving hacking through the lot of them with his sword, Eomer had a sudden epiphany and ran to fetch his uncle. He returned with King Théoden who, much like the others, was in high spirits. The only real explanation the Pevensies could come up with for this behavior was that the others had either found something they thought would make the siblings happy (which nothing short of Lucy's resurrection would), or they were simply very happy about Sauron's demise and were planning some other way to cheer the siblings up somehow.

Good luck to them, then.

"My nephew tells me you plan to gut him, young Peter." Théoden said brightly as he approached the children. Peter opened his mouth, most likely to say something less-than-polite, fueled by frustration, but caught himself quickly. It was one thing to mouth off to his friends; Théoden, however, was a king, and should be respected as such.

"More or less, my lord." He cast a thin glare at Eomer, who merely smirked in response.

"Susan, Edmund," Théoden captured their attention quickly. "Did your brother mention to you that I'd planned on honoring you all for your deeds in the Fellowship and in service to Middle Earth?"

Susan and Edmund blinked, exchanging confused looks before glancing at Peter. "You never told us that!" Edmund accused. Peter's mouth dropped open.

"Dearest apologies, Ed, it got lost somewhere in the _billions of other things on my mind over the past month_."

"What, precisely, do you mean by 'honoring' us?" Susan inquired.

"Well, it would first mean giving you each a title, a name to go by that will exemplify the attributes you've displayed under pressure and times of hardship."

Towards the end of Théoden's sentence, Susan honed in on movement by the citadel doorway. It was reflexive; she saw something move, she paid it some small mind, and then flipped her eyes back to the king.

"It is a relatively small ceremony, but in front of a moderately sized group of people. I can be as exclusive or as public as you wish. You may choose only close friends to attend, or we can simply hold it here on the courtyard for any and all to see."

However, it was the bright white of Gandalf's robes that brought Susan's attention back once more. Her eyes landed on him, and then the tall form of Boromir's brother, Faramir. Over his shoulder, she could see Éowyn's beautiful blonde hair.

And what was this? Someone else with them? They were small. But Merry and Pippin were already…

Already…

"It is a relatively short process; I would be naming your accomplishments-"

No.

No.

It couldn't be.

The world went silent.

All Susan could focus on was the small figure that was coming into view, stepping out from behind Gandalf and Faramir, pushing past them-

"Lucy." Susan whispered.

"-and then bestowing upon you the names which you have earned, of-"

"**_LUCY!_**"

Susan's shriek split through Théoden's words. Under other circumstances, she would have been embarrassed for interrupting him, a king of all people, but now there was nothing that she, Peter or Edmund could see but their little sister grinning at them from down the way, standing before Gandalf, Faramir and Éowyn.

Peter and Edmund started, then looked past Théoden as well, their eyes widening gradually, their mouths dropping open-

"**_LUCY!_**"

Everyone watched with unsuppressed grins of joy as the three oldest Pevensies bolted across the yard to their youngest member. Lucy started forward as well, though at a significantly slower pace. Peter reached Lucy first, scooping her into his arms and spinning her around. Lucy shrieked with laughter, and a moment later that shriek was muffled by Susan and Edmund tackling the pair in a hard, tight hug. Susan raked her fingers through Lucy's hair and wept with joy.

All four Pevensies had been reunited, safe and sound. Lucy basked in the love of her older siblings and couldn't help but wonder at how she'd managed without them for all of those long months. If she hadn't had Frodo and Sam with her, she would never have been able to do it. Never.

"We- You- When- How? How are you-?" Peter croaked, his eyes red. He was holding Lucy in place, gripping her shoulders tightly as though he was afraid that she would disappear if he let go.

"I retrieved your sister, as well as Frodo and Samwise from Mount Doom with the aid of the Winglords." Gandalf said, stepping forward.

"And you all _knew_? You _knew_ and you didn't say anything?" Edmund glared back at the others, who all glanced away at his anger.

"We meant for it to be a most pleasant surprise for the three of you." Boromir said with a slight air of sheepishness.

"Well it- It was!" Edmund agreed awkwardly. On a whim, he decided to forget his scruples with the others and simply be relieved that Lucy was alive and well.

That was all that mattered.


	76. Celebrations Abound

Sam awoke an hour after Lucy had, and enjoyed a great reunion with their friends as well. Frodo did not wake up until the next morning; he slept for nearly thirty-six hours after being rescued.

That time between Frodo and Sam's awakenings was used for catching up. The bulk of the Fellowship told Sam and Lucy what they'd done after the Fellowship had been split near the Falls of Rauros, and Sam and Lucy told them of all that had transpired on the quest to Mordor.

"Gollum!" Legolas actually _shivered_, which made everyone around the table stare. "A loathsome and pitiable creature if I've ever seen one. Aragorn took him captive in the Dead Marshes not a year before our quest began, and brought him to my father's halls for questioning."

"You met the Stinker, then, did you?" Sam growled. Much like unflappable Legolas' _shiver_ at the thought of Gollum, the sight of Sam looking so cold and angry was highly unusual, and everyone stared. "And what are you all looking at? He tried to kill us!"

"A lot!" Lucy chimed in. "But he's gone now. He fell into the lava with the Ring." She and Sam had not mentioned the depth of Frodo's ensnarement with the Ring to anyone. These were their friends, but they couldn't bear it if they looked at Frodo different now because of how he'd nearly sabotaged the entire quest.

"Such a pity. I imagine he wasn't so bad before he got a hold of the Ring." Susan shook her head.

"Rather, I think the Ring got a hold of _him_." Aragorn muttered. "Let us thank the gods that its power is gone forever."

"So Sauron can _never_ come back?" Pippin asked. "Never? You're certain?"

"No, Peregrin," Gandalf rolled his eyes. "We suspect he might be hiding under a rock somewhere on the Pelennor Fields, feeding off of worms and other insects. _Yes_, Sauron is gone. You yourself witnessed his collapse."

Pippin sighed. "That's good."

"Oh!" Lucy suddenly remembered something. "Faramir! Do you remember when you saw us off in Osgiliath and told us to be careful about the pass of… Of…" Lucy struggled to recall the name. There were too many names in her head now to keep them all straight at once.

"Cirith Ungol?"

"Yes! The, ah- The Dark Terror bit. Do you remember that?" Faramir straightened in his chair.

"You saw it?" Sam and Lucy exchanged dark looks and shuddered together.

"Indeed we did." Sam paled slightly. "It was a spider. A very, very _big_ spider, bigger than- Than- That cave troll we saw in Moria! Bigger than two of them together!" Legolas nodded slowly in understanding, but did not shudder this time. He looked mildly disgusted.

"Ungoliant."

"Pardon?"  
"Ungoliant. A race of monstrously sized spiders." When he offered up no further explanation, Aragorn stepped in.

"They inhabit the forests surrounding Legolas' home; it is now called 'Mirkwood', rather than 'Greenwood' as a result." Sam and Lucy were horrified.

"You have those things around your _home?_ How do you _live_ there?" Gimli gave a raw laugh.

"They're elves! There isn't much they do that makes sense." Rather than being offended, Legolas looked mildly amused at this remark.

"Based on what you've described to me, I believe that this spider you encountered was far larger than the kind near my home. They stay away from us elves. Their aren't many of them; competition over a sufficient amount of food often drives them to kill one another."

"Still," Sam murmured, almost nauseated at the thought of being near creatures like that on the daily basis.

"Tell us more about the talking trees," Lucy said eagerly, leaning forward over the table towards Edmund, Boromir, Merry and Pippin.

"Ents," Boromir corrected with a smile. "From Fangorn Forest."

"_Ents?_" Everyone smirked at Faramir's indignant squawk. "You met some of the oldest creatures in our world, _spoke_ with them, and you _didn't tell me?_"

"I'm telling you now!" Boromir said jovially, grinning at his brother's obvious irritation. Just because he and Faramir got along so well didn't mean he didn't enjoy teasing his baby brother every now and then.

"Well, let's take count, Boromir: Ents, Lothloríen, a _Balrog_ in the realm of _Moria_- Just tell me right now: Is there _anything else_ you would like to _tell me about?_"

"No, no, that's pretty much it." Boromir watched with a tiny smirk as Faramir sighed and relaxed. "Of course, there _was_ that giant sea-monster that attacked us just outside the mines-"

"BOROMIR!"

()()

Over the next week, celebrations were fierce.

Rohan and Gondor had melded seamlessly, everyone going wild with happiness as they celebrated the fall of the dark lord and his desolate land. It was not unlike the celebration at Edoras following the battle of Helm's Deep, but was, in fact, even wilder given that this was a celebration of absolute victory. The dining hall in particular seemed to be the center of everything.

"Aye, Edmund! Have you seen my brother?" Boromir called out with a laugh. He'd been with two other soldiers in the hall, whose names Edmund knew to be Berethor and Eaoden, when they'd passed the eleven year-old in the hall.

"I- Not recently." Boromir moved to say something else, but Berethor called out to him and he gave up on whatever else he meant to do, waving to Edmund and following the men. Edmund thought for a moment, wondering, and then thought that Faramir might be in a certain hall nearby, as he'd been found there numerous times in the past weeks.

Edmund set off for that hall, intent on dragging Faramir down to the party if it killed him; he'd grown quite close to Boromir and Faramir over the past month's time.

As he entered the hall, he was lucky; he heard the unmistakable sound of Faramir's clear, distinguishable voice echoing ever so slightly from a nearby room. Edmund smiled, walked to the door and pulled it open.

"Hey, Faramir, I- Oh!" Edmund immediately jerked back. Faramir and Éowyn immediately drew away from one another, blushing fiercely. When he's entered, they'd been quite close to one another; he'd even go so far as to say that they were nearing a kiss. Edmund was torn between embarrassment and amusement.

Given the joyous moods all around, he went with amusement.

"Deepest apologies- Were you two having some private-time alone in the darkened room?" Was Edmund's cheeky remark.

"_Edmund!_" Faramir, flabbergasted, started towards the door and Edmund wisely took off down the hall, snickering. He got as much of a thrill of playfully pushing Faramir's buttons as he did Peter's. That had to be a good sign. And evidently, Éowyn had a sense of humor again: He'd heard her laughter following him down the hall, though whether it was at Faramir's reaction or Edmund's remark he didn't know.

And now he knew why Faramir liked this particular hall so much; this must have been where Théoden, Eomer and Éowyn were bunking.

As Edmund rounded a corner, he very nearly collided with someone. He jumped back, opened his mouth to apologize, and then looked up. The apology died on his lips, and he was certain he might have gone a little pale.

Denethor, it seemed, was no longer confined to his chambers.

The look- the _look_- he gave Edmund at that moment spoke of scorn for much more than just running in the halls and nearly crashing into him. Edmund swallowed when he realized that he had, during the incident with the pyre, pounded on the door and, without regret, called Denethor a 'bloody lunatic'.

Well. Now he was starting to regret it.

Edmund coughed slightly. "My lord." He gave a quick nod and dodged around Denethor, praying and hoping that he would not be called back.

He wasn't.

()()

"Thank you."

Aragorn looked at Peter across the tiny table from him. Around them, there were dozens of people around them in the process of merry-making. He wasn't certain at first that he'd heard Peter correctly.

"Pardon?"

"Thank you. For everything." Peter's cheeks went a little red. "For looking after us, training us and letting us help in whatever way we could." Aragorn smiled.

"I didn't need to do much. You all held up quite well on your own."

"No we didn't." Peter recalled vividly multiple times in which he and Susan had been about at the breaking point. If they had been alone, if they'd had to stand on their own feet and find a way to get Edmund and Lucy back, he wasn't sure they would have done it. Aragorn had been their biggest support, along with Legolas and Gimli.

"If you say so. But I still think you're stronger than you realize, Peter." Aragorn took a sip from his mug contentedly. Peter shrugged and made no remark. If Aragorn thought he was strong, nothing Peter could say was going to change it.

After a moment of silence between them, Peter tapped the rim of his mug and said, "So, are you going to be king now?" He made sure to keep his voice relatively low. Aragorn sighed and shut his eyes.

"That remains to be seen. I have no intention of creating conflict over a throne, and…" He trailed off with a slightly uncomfortable look. Peter leaned forward.

"And?" He prompted.

"I," Aragorn cleared his throat slightly. "I met with Lord Denethor." Peter shut his eyes, wincing slightly. Edmund had quietly informed him, Susan and Lucy about Boromir and Faramir's father, warning them that his company might not be the friendliest and that they may want to steer clear. As it was, they hadn't seen him yet: Denethor had been convalescing in his room for just over a week.

Gandalf had hit him pretty hard, after all.

"And how did that go?"

"He threw a lightweight piece of crockery at my head and then called for a torch and some lamp oil. Gandalf had warned that he might not be so amiable towards me." Peter tried very, very hard not to laugh and failed.

"D-Did anyone bring him either of those things?"

"No. They've been under orders from Gandalf, Boromir and Faramir: No torches or any other objects that could result in flame." He gulped a fair amount of brandy from his mug and winced slightly.

"So he doesn't want you to be king."

"No."

"…Do _you_ want to be king?"

Aragorn stared at the table, thinking, tapping the mug with his finger. It occurred to Peter that being a child and pretending to be king was all well and good, but when you actually had to assume such a role and all of the responsibilities that came along with it, it was a far more daunting task than you would have originally imagined. Power was both exciting and intimidating, especially when you were just as equally capable of making a bad decision as you were a good one. It was a lot to handle.

"I want to assume the role that I was meant for." Aragorn said finally. "I want to be king. I want to help the world of men. I want to…"

"…Be what everyone dreamed you could be?" Peter suggested. Aragorn grimaced.

"It sounds so hollow that way, that I would do it simply to please them. But there are those who have faith in me, have had faith in me for a long time, and I… Do not want to disappoint them."

"But it's not your sole reason."

"No. As I said, I want to be an asset to the race of men, a good leader. But I would be just as happy to resume the life of a Ranger." His expression flattened. "It was a mite simpler before Hobbits and children became involved." Peter grinned.

"Well, at least if you end up holding off from the throne from now you won't have to look over your shoulder to make sure Denethor isn't trying to torch you." Aragorn chuckled.

"Yes, I-"

Aragorn froze.

His entire body went slack. His eyes were fixated on a point over Peter's shoulder. Peter immediately turned to see what had drawn the ranger's attention, and immediately went wide-eyed himself.

Many in the room had fallen still at the sight of the group of Elves that seemed to have appeared from nowhere. Peter immediately recognized several of them from Elrond's council in Rivendell; it felt like years ago. Elrond himself was at the head of the group, smiling slightly.

And right next to him was his daughter, Arwen.

Peter glanced back at Aragorn, who seemed to have lost sight of everything and everyone else in the world. "Well? Are you going to stand there, or are you going to go and say hello?" Peter murmured, twitching his head towards the newcomers. Aragorn seemed to snap out of his trance, then, and slowly approached the elves, though still winded by their sudden appearance.

Elrond nodded to Aragorn as he stood before them and then stepped aside a bit, glancing at his daughter. Arwen was smiling somewhat nervously, though she was clearly very happy to see Aragorn again.

Aragorn stood before her in seeming disbelief.

And then he pulled her close and gave her a nice, hard kiss in front of everyone assembled.

There were cheers. And catcalls.

"Not quite what I meant when I said 'Go say hello'." Peter chortled.

Susan and Lucy were giggling wildly at the display. "That's so sweet!" Susan cooed, Lucy merely nodded, unable to speak from overwhelming joy. She remembered, oh so many months ago, when they'd left Rivendell that Aragorn had hesitated at the gates, looking back at Arwen with such sadness. He hadn't wanted to leave her- But now they were together again!

Edmund happened to enter the room just as Aragorn and Arwen were pulling apart, and he rolled his eyes.

"Is _everyone_ having a good snog around here?" Edmund bewilderedly asked his sisters. Susan rolled her eyes.

"_No_, Edmund, we're not."

"Of course _you're_ not; Haldir's still in Lothloríen, isn't he?"

"EDMUND!"

Susan went to pursue her brother, but he disappeared like a flash into the crowd, snickering the entire way. She puffed furiously. As happy as she was to see that Edmund's mood had improved one-hundred fold since the fall of Sauron, she certainly wished that he wasn't as mischievous as he was now! She shuddered at the thought of what it would be like if Merry and Pippin weren't busy drinking, entertaining and spending a great deal of time with Frodo and Sam; they and Edmund would have leveled the city by now otherwise.

Susan heaved a sigh and turned around, only to nearly walk into someone's chest.

"Oh, my apolo-" She stopped short, suddenly recognizing the cloth and armor that she was staring at. Her cheeks went crimson.

Yes, it was Haldir, March Warden of Lothloríen.

And since he was an elf, he'd probably heard very clearly what Edmund had just said.

Fantastic.

"I do seem to have a habit of surprising you, don't I Miss Pevensie?" Though his face was utterly stoic, she could _hear_ a smile in his voice.

"That you do." Susan tried to keep a similarly unaffected expression as she met his eyes. "Did you come with Lord Elrond?"

"Nay, I came with the Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. We were not far behind Lord Elrond and his party."

"I see." Susan's eyes flicked back and forth. This was awkward for so many reasons: Edmund's jokes, her past encounters with Haldir, the fact that she _may_ or may not have found him reasonably attractive-

She coughed.

"How's your arm?"

Lucy had stumbled away after her brother and sister ran off, her giggling increased tenfold. She simply _had_ to tell Frodo about this- She'd made it her mission to make him laugh as much as humanly possible, like the night of Bilbo's party when he'd done so with such joy. She wanted him to be truly happy again.

She searched the room, asked around, but could not locate Frodo. No one could quite recall seeing him for a time- But then, it was a bit chaotic, and so getting a good look at anyone you weren't speaking directly to (Especially a tiny hobbit) wasn't necessarily realistic.

Eventually, Lucy ventured beyond the party and began to peek into different rooms within the citadel, running across several servants, guards and wayward partygoers that had nothing for her to go on- Except one.

"I did see him not too long ago," A guard said after a moment's thought. "He and Lord Boromir came by this way not two minutes ago. You may perhaps find them on the balcony."

"Thank you!" Lucy was a bit alarmed. When last Boromir and Frodo had spoken directly, she recalled it being in the woods after Boromir had attempted to steal the Ring. Frodo was still on edge after everything that had happened, and that particular instance had been a bad one for him. Lucy wanted to make sure everything was all right.

When she felt a cool breeze waft from the hall to her left, Lucy turned and trotted down it, suddenly hearing voices floating from the door at the end.

"…wanted to apologize, Frodo."

"Apologize?"

"For- For the Ring. For trying to steal it." Lucy peered around the doorframe. Boromir was looking down over the edge of the balcony, hanging his head. "Nothing I say can ever compensate for my actions, Frodo. I apologize for trying to steal the Ring from you. It's not enough, but it's all I can give." Frodo's gaze had softened the moment Boromir had spoken up.

"Boromir, you needn't think that you alone were at fault. For months now, I've felt the pull of the Ring. And when I stood in Mount Doom and made to throw it into the chasm…" He looked plainly at Boromir. "I couldn't do it." Boromir blinked.

"You couldn't?"  
"No, Boromir. It corrupted me far worse than it did you, at the very end when it was most crucial. It was through pure accident and Gollum's interference that can be thanked for the Ring's destruction now." Boromir shook his head.

"Frankly, I don't care how the Ring fell into the lava, so long as it _did_. You got the Ring that far without bending, Frodo. That is a victory in and of itself." Frodo nodded with a smile.

"If not for Sam, Lucy and every one of you… I wouldn't have."

Lucy smiled and pulled away from the wall, going off to find her siblings. Eavesdropping on that private moment felt wrong, but at least now she could rest easy knowing that Frodo and Boromir had mended fences.

()()

The next day, King Théoden honored the Pevensies.

Present was the entire Fellowship, as well as Eomer, Éowyn, Faramir, Arwen, Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel, Lord Celeborn and, naturally, Haldir. Lucy and Edmund may or may not have made kissy-faces at Susan whenever they had the chance. She may or may not have considered choking them. In the end she ruled that there were too many witnesses.

The four siblings, blushing and a bit overwhelmed, knelt in the center of the same courtyard that they had been reunited in the week before. This was a fairytale come to fruition in a way they never dreamed that they'd see: Somehow, it was an excellent ending (but not really) to the story.

"Is everyone here?" King Théoden asked lightly, looking around. When he saw that everyone who'd meant to be there was indeed present, he stepped forward so that he was directly in front of the Pevensies. "Very well then- Today, we gather to honor four young people who have displayed noteworthy courage and determination under extraordinary circumstances. I'll be giving each of you-" He looked at the four Pevensies, "-A title that exemplifies the best of your traits. To begin,"

Théoden came to stand before Peter, who made sure that he was as straight-backed as he could be as he knelt. "I start with Peter Pevensie. You, Peter, will be from this day known as Peter the Bold." He touched his sword to Peter's shoulder, and the teenager swelled with pride. Théoden noticed, smiled, and moved to Peter's left so that he was standing before Susan.

"Susan Pevensie I hereby name Lady Susan, the Gentle." Susan smiled, and Peter and Edmund may have exchanged bemused looks. _Gentle?_ Susan? Had Théoden seen her in a fight? Well. They supposed it was accurate by most other standards.

Théoden moved on to Edmund, who went a lot more rigid than he'd been before. "You, Edmund Pevensie, I name Sir Edmund, The Just." Edmund brightened at that, grinning. Théoden chuckled, and then moved onto the last Pevensie sibling in the line, standing before Lucy. She was a bit intimidated: This was a king like she'd read about in stories, about to knight her.

Théoden smiled down at Lucy. "And to you, Lucy Pevensie, will hereby be known as Lady Lucy… The _Valiant._"

Lucy's head shot up to stare at him, opened mouthed. The King smiled back, and she turned to look at Frodo and Sam. They were grinning outright at her, nodding happily.

Lucy the Valiant.

It had a nice ring to it.

()()

It may interest you to know that I didn't originally plan on having Haldir in this chapter. I thought of it halfway through, thought about it, and then said 'Cool. I can do that.'

It may interest you to know that I didn't originally plan on writing this chapter either. I'm tying up loose ends. I also realized that it would be a cop-out to not have that ceremony honoring the Pevensies somewhere in the story, since it's kind of the coronation-scene equivalent to LWW.


	77. Home

One month passed following the destruction of the Ring.

The Pevensies spent their time with their friends, helping to clean up after the war. They aided in clearing the streets of Minas Tirith of rubble, tracking down parties of Orcs that had fled in the wake of Mordor's destruction, and in general aided in whatever way that they could. Most importantly, though, they spent some much needed time relaxing with their friends.

But one day, the four decided to go for a ride on their own to Northern Ithilien.

"Perhaps I should accompany you," Faramir said uneasily.

"It's just a ride along the edge of the woods!" Lucy chirped. "We won't go in. Besides, we'll be on horses. If any Orcs show up, we'll be able to run if we have to." But she knew that there would be no running, because her brothers and sister would be armed to the teeth and ready to fight.

"All the same-"

"Don't you have a date with Éowyn?"

Faramir went bright red. "Well, I'd hardly call it- I mean- We aren't-"

Lucy just grinned. "Mm-hmm."

"All the same, you should have someone go with you."

"My brothers have swords, and my sister has a bow and arrow. I have this." She unsheathed her dagger with a smile. "We'll hardly be defenseless, Faramir. I think we'll be just fine."

()()

Ithilien was far more beautiful when not involved in a life-or-death quest. Or with a psychotic, wobbling creature like Gollum for a guide. And on horseback, Lucy was able to quickly bring her siblings to a place that had clung to her memory with surprising tenacity.

Everything was brighter since Mordor's demise, but this particular area near the edge of the mountain was still pretty dismal in comparison to much of anything else. "Where are we going, Lu?" Susan called as her sister raced ahead. The chocolate mare she was riding had taken to her quickly, and seemed to be eager for a run.

"We're almost there!"

"She asked _where_, not _how long_!" Edmund called.

"Not far, then!"

The area was covered sparsely in trees, but they grew denser as the children went on. "Didn't Faramir have reservations about us going into the forest?" Peter asked, not so much because he was concerned for Orcs, but rather he didn't want Faramir (or anyone else) upset with them when they got back.

"We're not going that far in! Besides, it's the only thing really worth seeing for a few miles here!" And when the trees began to look familiar and get closer together, Lucy knew that they'd found the place. It was surprising how the foliage stood out so vividly in her memory, how she knew it so well after seeing so much of it.

Would she be re-living the events of this quest in her dreams, as she'd re-lived her memories of home on the journey? Lucy didn't think that she would mind that, so long as pesky and troublesome memories of Gollum and Shelob stayed buried at the back of her mind where they belonged. Her memories of most anything else would be quite welcome to revisit her.

Lucy signaled for the horse to stop, with a bit more caution than her now very horse-savvy siblings. The mare was fully-grown, and Lucy had to move slowly while dismounting lest she fall. Once she'd hopped off, her siblings just now coming to a stop nearby, she turned to them.

"This way! It's right back here!" Peter exchanged a look with both Susan and Edmund and shrugged.

"Shall we?"

They followed Lucy back into the trees, which seemed to be slowly clawing its way back to life. The bark looked healthier, and on the trees and scraggly bushes it seemed that maybe, just maybe, the very beginnings of new buds were starting to show. The three oldest Pevensies were not as sensitive to the change as the youngest, who knew the area all too well now.

"Here! Right here!" Lucy had led them to what, at first glance, appeared to be a large and curiously misshapen rock. But upon closer inspection, they saw that it was, in fact, the disembodied head of a statue not unlike the ones that they had seen on the river after leaving Lothloríen all those months ago.

The grass and flower stems sprouted from the statue's head like hair, and beautiful white flowers twitched slightly in the breeze. By sheer luck, Lucy had brought them to this spot at about the same time of day that she'd seen it the first time, and while the sun coming through the trees was lovely, it didn't look _quite_ as magical as it had that first time. But close.

"That's the king with his crown," Lucy pointed to it, and Susan stepped forward to brush her fingers against the delicate little flowers. "We found him when we were heading to Mordor, and they were the only real flowers anywhere around and the light hit them just, just…" She trailed off.

Peter cocked his head. "What is it, Lucy?"

Lucy raised a finger, motioning for silence and for them to listen.

_Thump._

"Hm?" Edmund's eyes narrowed, and he looked around.

_Thump._

_Thump. _

Susan glanced around. "Do you hear that?"

_Thump. _

_Thump. _

_Thump_.

It was a deep, echoing sound, like footsteps on a hard, wooden floor.

_Thump. _

_Thump. _

_Thump._

They all fell silent.

_Thump._

_Thump._

_Thump. _

_Thump_.

Lucy turned and ran for a tight cluster of nearby trees, delighted when she heard the thumps get louder. "It's coming from in here!" She called. Her siblings were momentarily caught off guard, but then ran after her. She didn't need to be disappearing on them again.

"Lu, Lucy- Oh, not _again_-"

Peter followed right after Lucy, followed by Edmund and then Susan. The trees started to press very tightly around them, and the children started to feel very claustrophobic as they inched along in a single-file line. However, they eventually caught up to one another, and soon enough, they were squabbling about the space.

"_Ow!_"

"_You're on my foot!_"

"_Ack!_"

"_Hey!_"

"_Watch it!_"

"_Peter, careful!_"

A branch smacked into Peter's face, and he waved his hands at it to push it away. His fingers brushed against something smooth and soft to the touch. "Wha-_pfft_- These- These aren't trees!"

Susan hesitated, squinting at what her brother had ran into. The shape, the texture, the material; she spoke before she even processed what the words really meant.

"They're coats."

"_Whoa!_"

An explosion of light.

The warmth of a closed-off room in summer.

A wooden floor.

The Pevensies fell out of the old apple-wood wardrobe much in the same way they had fallen out into the Shire that first time so many months ago. First Peter, then Lucy, then Edmund, then Susan.

For the first moment, they thought they'd actually stumbled into a house. It wouldn't be the strangest thing hidden in a grove of trees that they'd found thus far.

In the second moment, they began to recognize the room, the floor, the door across the way and the window to their right.

And in the third moment, they looked down and- to their utter shock- found themselves wearing the same clothing that they had been wearing the day they'd entered the wardrobe and entered the Shire: Not so much as a hole in any of them.

None of the siblings spoke, though they all exchanged astonished, bewildered expressions, and tried to summon the right words, tried to organize their thoughts so that they could ask the ultimate question:

_What just happened here?_

But just then, the thumping noise that they'd almost completely forgotten about stopped. The door to the spare room swung open, and who was standing there but Professor Kirke, hands folded behind his back.

They were back.

They were _really back._

"Oh!" He exclaimed. "There you all are!" He held his hands behind his back as he approached them, a tiny, knowing smile on his face. "Now, what were you doing in that wardrobe…?"

He knew.

He had to know.

Nonetheless, the children felt the need to explain. But how, exactly, were they supposed to explain _this?_ All four of them stared at the professor, then at each other, and then back to him again.

"You… Wouldn't believe us if we told you, sir." Peter murmured, the corners of his lips turning up slightly as he did.

The old man removed one hand from behind his back, revealing a cricket ball. Not just any cricket ball, actually: It was the same one that Edmund had knocked through the window and into the suit of armor. It was the same device that had led to their journey into the wardrobe and Middle Earth an eternity ago.

He tossed it to them, and Peter caught it in one hand. They all stared at it dumbly for a moment, and then looked back up at the adult.

Professor Kirke smiled.

"Try me."

()()

As you can imagine, when the horses succeeded and the Pevensies failed to return by nightfall, the Fellowship and other friends were slightly worried.

"Maybe they got eaten by Orcs!"

"Maybe they ran into that giant spider Sam mentioned!"

"Merry and Pippin, _you are not helping_."

"We need to set out and look for them right now."

"I'll get torches."

"Should we all go?"

"Some of us should stay here and see if they come back."

"With every moment we delay it get's _darker_. Come along now, lads!"

"_Quiet_." Gandalf's voice cut through all others, and everyone came to a complete halt.

Boromir had been a moment away from removing torches from the wall of that very room. Aragorn had his hand on the handle of the door opposite of the one Gandalf was standing in, on the other side of the room. The other hand was on his sword. Frodo was glaring at Merry and Pippin. Sam looked intensely worried. Gimli had an axe raised, and Legolas had been fingering his bow.

The wizard gave them all a small, sad smile.

"You needn't look for them. They are gone."

"Gone?" Sam cried. Gandalf waved a hand.

"Not _dead_, Samwise Gamgee- Gone. Back to their own world." After a moment of stillness whilst they processed this, everyone's bodies went slack with relief. This, presumably, meant that the Pevensies were safe. If they weren't, Gandalf would not look so calm.

"Hey!" Pippin's eyes narrowed. "They went home without so much as a 'by-your-leave'? Some friends!"

"Hush now!" Sam snapped. "They _are_ our friends. I'm sure it just- Just- took them by surprise. Right Gandalf?" The blonde hobbit looked pleadingly at Gandalf to back up his guesswork. To his relief, Gandalf nodded.

"I daresay they didn't quite plan on coming here in the first place: I don't imagine they were expecting to be pulled back home either."

"But I thought the… _Wardrobe_ that brought them here," Boromir blinked at the strange notion, "Was in the Shire. How were they to get back from here?"

"Magic." Gandalf said simply.

Now that the panic and the disbelief died down, everyone was sadly quiet.

"So… They're not coming back?" Merry inquired softly. The concept seemed quite tragic to him. Gandalf's sighed.

"I do not know. It is possible, I suppose. They may yet find a way back. But for now… Now they are gone."

()()

That night, the door to the spare room opened.

And Lucy had to know.

Their friends would worry, after all, if they weren't already.

Lucy didn't have a candle this time, the darkness of the old manor being nothing in comparison to some of what she'd seen over the past few months in Middle Earth. Certainly nothing in comparison to the spider's lair.

However unafraid of the dark she was, Mrs. Macready was another matter entirely, and so Lucy tread as quietly as she could, even once she'd gotten into the spare room and shut the door behind her. She crept towards the wardrobe, eyes fastened firmly on the door. When she reached it, she grabbed the handle and twisted it, silently pulling the door open. She poked her head inside.

"I don't think you'll get back in that way."

Lucy jumped, pulled her head back into the room and whipped around.

Professor Kirke was seated on the thin windowsill of the window to the right of the tiny staircase that led from the doorway up into the room. Lucy had been so focused on the wardrobe that she hadn't even noticed him. He had a pipe, and was chewing on the end of it. Lucy was reminded painfully of Gandalf.

Professor Kirke rose from the sill and approached her with a sigh. "You see, I've already tried." He stood beside her at the wardrobe's entrance and peered inside, as though faintly hoping that he might see the light of the moon or a few fireflies glowing in the night at the other side.

Lucy looked up at him sadly. "Will we ever get back?" She whispered, not wanting to even consider the possibility that they would never see their friends again. But the Professor nodded slowly.

"Oh, I expect so." He shut the door with a creak. "But it'll probably happen when you're not looking for it." He smiled, as did Lucy. Yes, that did seem to be the way that this kind of magic worked.

Professor Kirke held out his hand, and Lucy took it. They started to leave, but then the professor stopped and looked down at her for a moment. "All the same… Best to keep your eyes open." Lucy grinned and nodded enthusiastically.

Together, they left the spare room and the wardrobe behind, uncovered. They shut the door behind them, and the room was left in silence once more.

But then, ever so slightly, the door to the wardrobe creaked open again, as though blown by a gentle wind.

And from the depths of the wardrobe, a tiny, white-winged moth fluttered out and settled on the floor.

-End-

Whoo. Finished.

I really can't describe how this feels.

This is five and a half years of sweat, blood and tears, and re-watching the twelve to fifteen hours of the trilogy.

Piece. By. Ever. Loving. Piece.

I love Lord of the Rings (OBVIOUSLY) but pausing every scene to make sure the lines were right was enough to drive me to the point of insanity.

Obviously I didn't have that issue with Narnia (And even if I did, the three movies now would only be about nine hours).

It all spawned- All of this- from a picture in my head of Frodo and Lucy sitting in the orchard and talking.

You may recall me saying many, many moons ago that this started off as a vague, fun little idea I had, based entirely on the notion of crossing over the two worlds with the usual theme of 'What if?' That is what motivates me to write fanfiction: I love exploring the 'What if'. What _if_ the Wardrobe had led to Narnia? What _if_ Lucy met Frodo? And what _if_ the Pevensies got sucked into the war in Middle Earth?

As well as loverly reviews from YOUS ALL…

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: THANK YOU REVIEWERS AND ALL THE ALMIGHTY KICKS IN THE BUTT YOU GAVE ME TO KEEP THIS STORY UP.

THANK YOU. :D

Oh, and by the way…

Remember that poll from an eternity ago, about me wondering if any of you wanted a sequel?

Well, the majority said "HELL YES", and that makes me happy.

I have a confession to make: Many times, when the chapters were late, it wasn't because I wasn't working my butt off on HRF- It was because I was forming the layout for the sequel, and typing up some of the chapters ahead of time so that I'd have a solid base to work off of when HRF was finished. There may also be a side-story (or a few) in store, describing the adventures that the Pevensies undertook in their remaining time in Middle Earth.

Now, I can't guarantee that the sequel or those side-stories will be up soon (Not even close): You've already experienced my tendency to get caught up in other fandoms, an obvious issue when dealing with a movie that isn't consistently giving me new material to work with. But with the sequel, let's just say I won't have to be watching the entire LOTR trilogy again, so it shouldn't be quite as bad (though the trade-off is that I'll have to have a bit more originality there… Hmm…). I don't know when I'll be able to work up the focus to work on and then post it, so don't expect it anytime soon. But eventually, it _will _go up.

Anyway, thank you ALL for reading. This story probably wouldn't have gotten far without you.

Or maybe it would have. My particular set of plot-bunnies have exceptionally sharp teeth. :D

-INMH


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